What You Wish For
by Aphelionite
Summary: Will Minerva's first year at Hogwarts be all that she'd hoped..? Set during McGonagall's first turbulent year as a teacher. Adult themes. Violence. 16 only!
1. Chapter 1

Professor McGonagall was about to find out just how qualified she was to hold that title as she stood outside the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom. Her first class was already inside and she took a deep breath before striding into the lion's den (though 'badgers' set' would be a more apt description), shoulders back, chin up, with the bell ringing overhead.

Only half the students were in their seats but the few who saw her enter hastily scrambled to their desks, eyeing her warily. The others were standing around in groups, talking and laughing loudly, unaware that the new DADA teacher had arrived.

'That is _quite_ enough,' she ordered, dropping several heavy books on her desk with a bang, her voice cracking like a whip despite the noise level. The room seemed to jump and subside as one, leaving a silence so complete she was afraid they'd stopped breathing, as well as talking, as all heads swivelled towards her. 'This is a classroom not a common room. You will take your seats promptly at the beginning of lessons and get out your work materials. _Well?_' she questioned sharply, when they continued to stare at her.

Her pupils burst into noisy life again, scrabbling to find stools and pulling books, parchment, quills and ink out of their bags under McGonagall's eagle eye. She looked slowly around at them all as the last scrapes and rustles died away, radiating austerity.

'For those of you who do not know, I am Professor McGonagall and I am here to teach you Defence Against the Dark Arts.' She clasped her hands behind her back and paced up the first aisle, square glasses swinging from a fine gold chain around her neck as she continued. 'Our classes together will not only instruct you on jinxes and counter-jinxes, and other forms of dark magic wizardkind like to employ against each other, but dark _creatures_. While not always what we would term 'evil', many dark creatures can – nonetheless – cause a great deal of damage if not properly handled.

'It is therefore essential,' she paused at the back of the room, 'to _pay attention_ lest we find ourselves unprepared.' She cast a cold eye over the dark-haired fourth-year boy at her elbow, holding out her hand. The tips of the boy's ears turned pink as he looked up into her stony face, her lips a thin line, and drew a scrap of parchment out of his lap, placing it in her outstretched hand. 'Name?'

The class's focus was riveted on the boy as they waited with bated breath to see what would happen next. He swallowed in the spotlight. 'Euan Trimble, miss,' he replied in a small voice.

'Collect your things together and move to the front of the class, please, Mr Trimble. You – Miss -?' she trailed off, looking at a mousy girl with a yellow ribbon in her hair, who was sitting directly in front of the teacher's desk.

'Abbott, Helen Abbott,' colouring at being addressed as Trimble moved forward, his friends snickering under their breaths.

'Would you mind giving up your seat?' she asked, though it couldn't quite be termed a request when there was really only one answer the girl could give.

Miss Abbott gathered her things together and moved to a free seat in the second row. Minerva continued her pacing.

'The magic we are going to be doing together is difficult and potentially hazardous if not performed correctly. _This_ requires your full attention. I will not tolerate distractions,' she held up the confiscated piece of parchment as she returned to stand in front of her desk and crushed it in her white fist. Euan cast his eyes down and straightened his quill as she threw it into the bin with perfect aim. 'And if I find _anyone_ endangering themselves or their classmates with foolish behaviour,' her green eyes flashed dangerously, 'they will leave my classroom and not return.

'Is that understood?'

There was a smattering of 'Yes, Professor's as the class shifted guiltily in their seats, despite the fact that they hadn't done anything wrong yet. Minerva fought down a smile. 'Good,' she said briskly, sitting on the edge of her desk. 'Quills out, please.' She used the few seconds of shuffling to lean across and retrieve her register, marking off Euan Trimble and Helen Abbott before setting it beside her. 'Now, who can tell me what a kelpie is?'

She wasn't at all surprised to see Helen's hand hit the air first; front and centre used to be her own seat of choice.

'Yes, Miss Abbott?'

'It's a water demon,' she said confidently.

'Very good; five points to Hufflepuff. And where should I look if I wished to find one?' she asked, addressing the class. Again Helen's hand punched the air but Minerva pointed to a boy in the third row instead. 'Name?'

Patrick Zlinky, Professor.' McGonagall nodded for him to continue. 'Here,' he said, 'Britain and Ireland, I mean.'

'Exactly – take five more points. Indeed kelpies can be found in any part of the UK but almost eighty percent of the populations are to be found in the Lake District and the Highland lochs – including one very famous one, even in the muggle world. Can anyone tell me where this creature has taken up residence?'

Euan's eyes had lit up at this and she looked at him, 'Mr Trimble?'

He looked faintly startled at being asked, 'I think it's Loch Ness,' he said uncertainly.

'What? The Loch Ness Monster?' cried one of the students incredulously. 'It's one of these things? But I thought it was a sea-serpent …'

The class laughed. 'I'm afraid you've been misinformed – but older and wiser wizards than you and I have made the same mistake,' she said with a faint smile. 'Name?'

'Ryan Dawkins,' he said quickly, obviously eager to press a point. 'But I thought kelpies ripped out people's guts, Professor: wouldn't someone have noticed if this thing had been eating the tourists?'

'Indeed they did,' she nodded, 'and a team from the International Confederate were dispatched to investigate what they thought was a sea serpent – there had been several sightings. It wasn't until they witnessed its transformation into an otter that they realised what they were really dealing with and posted a watch-wizard, to ensure the muggles safety.

'Now, the kelpie is capable of changing into a great many things but the most common form is that of a horse. It attempts to lure its victims onto its back before dragging them down to the bottom of the lake and devouring them, letting the intestines float to the surface,' she said, seeing a smug look flit across Ryan's face as he nudged his neighbour. 'The only known way of subduing a kelpie is to get a saddle on it by use of a placement charm, which we will be practising in the Great hall since we have limited space in here. So if you'll copy down the instructions on the board (she flicked her wand and three neat paragraphs appeared there) then pack away your things and follow me …'

Minerva entered the staff room at break-time with a satisfied smile on her face, helping herself to a sandwich and a cup of tea. There had been no major accidents and she hadn't had to take a single point which, in her book, was a jolly good start to the day. A dozen teachers were gathered in the lounge, some she knew, some she did not, chowing down on sandwiches or smoking a quick pipe before classes resumed. Professors Slughorn and Dumbledore were seated at a corner table, deep in conversation, but she was hesitant to impose her company on her former teachers.

Slughorn had frequently tried to draft her into his 'Slug Club' when she'd been a student and she could already picture the smug look on his face when he realised that she hadn't put her talents to much use till now. He'd probably think she couldn't get along without a leg-up …and Dumbledore. She had a deep admiration for her old Transfiguration professor but she felt distinctly awkward towards him after two rather less than formal letters she'd felt compelled to write – even if that had been eleven years ago.

'Minerva isn't it?'

She turned to find herself being waved over by a mahogany-haired witch sitting by one of the fires. 'Yes. I'm sorry, I don't –'

'Poppy,' said the woman, smiling as Minerva sat down and set her plate and cup on the table at their knees. 'Poppy Pomfrey – I'm the trainee Healer. Which basically means I do whatever Brax tells me. He's a bit of a grouch but he knows what he's talking about – well he's been here nearly thirty years, hasn't he? I just started in September so I'm new, too. I was so glad when Dumbledore said you were about my age – not that I don't get on with the others but it's nice to have someone, well, _younger_ to talk to, you know. So, how was your first lesson?'

The grey-eyed bubbly young woman was so friendly that Minerva couldn't help but return her smile as she warmed her hands by the fire. Being December, the temperature inside the castle was scarcely better than the weather outside, which had been threatening to snow for the last few days.

'Great,' she nodded enthusiastically, 'fun. I didn't expect it to be this easy-going straightaway.'

'So this is your first teaching job then?' asked Poppy. 'Fancy a career change?'

'Oh no, I always intended to teach, it just, it wasn't the right time before.' She shrugged and sipped her tea, 'You know what it's like when you're young.'

'Too busy having fun,' Poppy nodded with a sly grin.

'Something like that,' said Minerva, glancing at her watch and realising she only had ten minutes before her next class. 'So are you here on a placement …?' she asked, taking a bite out of her chicken and cucumber sandwich.

Poppy sat up a bit in her chair, seeming pleased that she'd asked. 'Well that was the original plan – I was supposed to be here for a year and then back to St Mungo's for my final year before I'm fully qualified. But Brax is planning to retire in the next couple of years and he thinks it'd be better if he trained his own replacement. He doesn't think a brand new candidate would do the job properly,' she rolled her eyes. 'But it's great for me – I mean, a job like that doesn't fall into your lap every day, does it? And by the time Brax leaves I'll be a full Healer with a couple of years Hogwarts experience under my belt. Pays well, too, and you know that's never a bad thing – especially with Hogsmeade down the road. It was all I could do not to spend my entire pay packet on this gorgeous set of robes I saw in Gladrags last month. It's just lucky Malcolm was there to hold me back.'

Minerva raised her eyebrows enquiringly, mouth full of sandwich.

'Malcolm's my partner,' said Poppy, correctly interpreting Minerva's expression. Her eyes fell on the gold band adorning Minerva's finger, 'You're married?'

'Uh huh,' nodded Minerva. 'Going on fourteen years now.'

'You must have been _young_,' observed the medic, scrutinising her as if trying to guess her age.

'And head over heels,' she said, smiling at a far away memory.

Poppy sighed, 'I've been dropping hints for _months_ but Malcolm doesn't seem to be picking them up. _Men_,' she added, with a 'can't live with 'em, can't Imperius them into marriage' type roll of her eyes. Minerva chuckled.

'You could always ask _him_,' she suggested, brushing a few errant crumbs off her bottle green robes.

Poppy looked scandalised, 'Oh no, no, no – I'm a traditionalist. I think every good marriage should start with the man on his knees.'

Minerva chortled a little louder than she'd meant to, drawing several curious glances. She clapped her hand over her mouth, shaking her head at Poppy.

'What?' she asked innocently, her expression belying her tone.

'_You_,' said Minerva, still shaking her head, patches of colour on her pale cheeks.

'What about me?'

She grinned, picking up the remains of her sandwich, 'I think I'm going to like you.'

'I'll drink to that,' beamed Poppy, raising her teacup with a satisfied nod. 'Cheers.'

'Cheers,' said Minerva, raising her cup, too.

'We'd better get going,' said Poppy, noticing the string of teachers leaving the staff room and consulting the clock at the far end of the room. Minerva followed Poppy's lead, gathering her empty cup and plate and returning them to the long table beside the door. 'I'll save you a seat at lunch,' promised Poppy.

Minerva smiled as they parted ways in the corridor. It had been a long time since she'd made a new friend.

Darkness had already fallen by the time Minerva left Hogwarts that evening, weighed down by her heavy leather bag but buoyed up by the success of her first day of teaching. The sixth-year Slytherins had been a little harder to control than her Hufflepuff class but she had expected and planned for as much. The threat of detention was enough of a deterrent this time, though they had lost their house fifteen points in the space of half an hour. Still, even half-a-dozen slippery Slytherins couldn't dent her good mood. She was surprised at how quickly the day had flown by.

The school gates clanged shut behind her and her breath rose in drifts of steam as she lit her wand, illuminating the winding lane into Hogsmeade. A fortnight ago she'd been panicking that she and Silas wouldn't be able to find accommodation on such short notice. She'd half expected to be boarding at The Three Broomsticks for the next six months but luckily the estate agent had managed to come up with a small cottage on the edge of the village that needed 'a bit of renovation'.

That had been an understatement. It needed knocking down and rebuilding if Minerva was honest with herself but it was all they could afford. Still, she wasn't afraid of a bit of hard graft and she had a few tricks up her sleeve yet. Silas wasn't the DIY type but she'd managed to coerce him into helping her with the bathroom when they'd discovered that it wasn't so much a bathroom as a breeding ground for every type of mould going. She itched just thinking about it.

She was glad to see the lights on as she approached the cottage, picking her way carefully across the overgrown garden. There might even be a cup of tea waiting for her, which she sorely needed after the biting cold. She'd been on to the Floo Commission to get them connected to the network but after a week she was beginning to wonder if they were getting her owls. She'd decided that if it wasn't sorted by the end of the week, she'd go in for the personal touch.

'I'm home!' she called, extinguishing her wand as she made her way up the gloomy, box-littered hall. 'Silas?'

'In here,' a voice rumbled towards the back of the house. She dropped her bag in an armchair on her way though the living room, following the enticing smell of food into the kitchen. 'Hi, love,' smiled Silas, stooping to plant a scratchy kiss on her cheek. 'How'd it go?'

She nodded, smiling as she unbuttoned her heavy black cloak and hung it by the door. 'Pretty good I think.' She wandered up behind him, peering into the large pot bubbling on the stove, 'Something smells good.'

'Nothing special, bit of beef stew, warm you up,' he said, poking a large wooden spoon into the pan and giving it a good stir.

'I could use it. Cup of tea?' she asked, clapping her hands together and looking for the tea pot amongst the debris of empty wrappers and dirty dishes that had accumulated since she'd left this morning.

'I bought a bottle of wine to celebrate your new job,' he said, nodding towards a dusty bottle on the kitchen counter. 'Why don't you crack it open? Food should be ready soon.'

She eyed the bottle with distaste but made no comment as she began chucking rubbish in the bin, noticing as she did so an already empty green bottle in there. Silas seemed not to notice his wife's sudden silence, humming over the stew as the wireless played in the background. Minerva rolled up her sleeves and filled the sink with hot soapy water, tapping the scrubbing brush with her wand to get it going as she piled the dishes in.

She found the teapot obscured behind a box of cereal and busied herself with gathering the ingredients for her tea, placing the half-filled copper kettle on the back ring of the stove with a clang. 'You sure you don't want a cup of tea?' she asked hopefully, rummaging in the cupboard next the Silas for a cup and saucer.

'Nah – fetch us a glass while you're in there, will you, love?' he said, sidling around her to grab the bottle of wine and popping the cork with his wand.

'Certainly, dear,' she muttered, placing the goblet on the counter with a solid _clunk_. 'Did you manage to sort that doxy nest in the spare room?' she said, knowing the answer before she'd finished asking the question when she saw the spray and bucket untouched in the cubby by the back door.

'Ah no, sorry love. Got caught up talking to that Vesta Lawrence, lost track of the time. By the time I got back it was time to put the tea on …' he apologised, not looking at her as he pulled a couple of bowls from the cupboard. 'I'll do it later though.'

Minerva stared at the back of his shaggy brown head with a look of deepest scepticism but again chose not to comment. She didn't want to be a nag, she didn't _like_ being a nag. 'What did Vesta have to say for herself, then?' she asked, turning back to the table and exerting a considerable amount of effort to keep a note of annoyance from her voice.

'Apparently her son's due home in a couple of days,' he said, ladling stew into the bowls. 'You know he's with the Department for International Cooperation – seems he caused a bit of a stir in Nigeria so they're sending him back ahead of schedule.'

'Lock your daughters up,' she said with a small smile, pulling the whistling kettle off the stove. They may have only been in Hogsmeade a week but Tallyn Lawrence had quite the reputation.

'More like lock your _wives_ up,' he grinned, glancing sideways at her as he set the food on the table.

'I'm not sure I want to know,' she groaned, grimacing.

'_Apparently_ he sneaked off with some ambassador's wife during a shindig in the capital, had to make a run for the border when they caught him with his trousers round his ankles, so to speak.'

'Vesta must be so proud,' she said dryly.

'Oh she doesn't believe a word of it, of course. Thinks he's been set up by some junior angling for his job. Her precious son couldn't _possibly_ be the toerag everyone says he is.'

'Of course not,' she rolled her eyes and sat down.

'So,' he said, dropping into the chair beside her, 'You going to tell me how your first day went? Kids give you any guff?'

She shook her head, toeing her shoes off under the table with a little groan. 'No, it went really well. A couple of the older students thought they'd try it on but your wife soon straightened them out.'

'I'll bet she did,' he said, a soft unexpected smile playing on his lips. 'I'm proud of you, Min. I know how much you wanted this.'

She rested her chin on her hand, disarmed by the rare compliment. 'Come 'ere,' she ordered, smiling broadly. Silas leaned in obediently, capturing her lips in a lingering kiss. She rubbed her nose against his, 'Love you.'

'Love you, too,' he said, pulling back and picking up his spoon. 'Now eat your soup before it gets cold, yeh soppy bugger.'

_Last of the great romantics,_ she thought, lifting a bread roll from the basket and ripping it in half.

The stew wasn't half bad, which was surprising since she couldn't remember the last time he'd cooked. She briefly wondered if she could talk him into making it a regular occurrence as she polished off her second bowl. 'That was good,' she complimented, getting up to clear the table, her robes a little tighter than they had been an hour ago.

Silas leaned back comfortably in his chair, contemplating the empty bottle on the table, dark eyes glittering in the lamplight. Minerva worked around him, putting away the dishes from earlier and placing a preserving charm on the leftover stew.

'You alright, pet?' she asked, pausing at his side as she retrieved her shoes. 'You're very quiet.'

He shook his head, looking down into her concerned green eyes. 'I'm fine, Min. Don't fuss.'

She pursed her lips, standing up. 'I'm not fussing, I asked a simple question.'

He got to his feet, too, tucking the chair under the table. 'Fancy a swift one in The Three Broomsticks?' he asked, ignoring the irritated look on Minerva's face.

'I can't. I've got about a thousand pages of notes to read through,' she said, thinking of the heavy book bag in the living room for the first time since she got home.

Silas shrugged, tugging his cloak down from its hook. 'Well I said I'd meet Trent for a drink, says he might have a job for me.'

'What about the spare room? She asked, pursuing him through the living room and into the dark hallway. 'I suppose you expect me to do it? Like I do everything else!'

'It'll still be there when I get back,' he said, an impatient bite to his voice. An icy draught swept through the passage as he pulled the door open. 'I won't be long.'

'But-'

The door slammed shut on any other protests she had been planning to make and she cursed under her breath, knowing full well that that was the last she'd see of him till closing time. 'Great,' she muttered, sighing heavily.

Too worked up to settle to reading (and quite sure her darling husband wouldn't get round to it until at least next week) she decided to vent her frustration on the doxies in the spare room. And the bundimun in the cupboard under the stairs. And what she'd thought had been a boggart in the attic but which turned out to be a ghoul – something else the estate agent failed to mention. Fabulous.

She crawled into bed at half eleven, hair still damp from the shower, with Helen Abbott's DADA notes for a bit of bedtime reading. She'd asked the top student in each of her classes to lend her their notes in exchange for exemption from homework until they were returned. Her predecessor hadn't really had time to leave detailed lesson plans and she herself had had precious little time to prepare, having only landed the job two weeks ago. This had seemed like as good a way as any to catch up on what had been covered so far.

If she could keep her eyes open long enough to read them.

Which – evidently – she could not, because the next thing she knew she was being woken by a loud crash downstairs. She leapt out of bed, scattering papers as she recovered her wand from the bedside table and made her way down the creaky, cobwebbed stairs. 'Silas?' she called, shining a beam of light over the hallway from above just in case it wasn't.

She saw him sprawled over a box she hadn't gotten around to unpacking yet, unsuccessfully trying to right himself. She hurried down the last few steps, hooking her arm under his and pulling him into a sitting position. 'Silas, are you alright?' she asked, looking him over for any obvious signs of injury.

He weaved slightly despite being sat down, squinting as if trying to bring her into focus. 'Min,' he hiccoughed. Well at least he recognised her.

'Are you hurt?' she asked, reeling back a little from the stench of alcohol on his breath. 'Can you get up?'

'I'm fine, Min. Fine …' he slurred, patting her clumsily on the shoulder. 'You alright?'

'Oh I'm fine, pet,' she sighed, lighting the lamps and stuffing her wand into the pocket of her nightdress. 'Come on, let's get you up.'

She pushed the box out of the way, getting her shoulder under his and struggling to get him to his feet; he was a lot bigger than her. His clothes were chilly against her bare arms as she supported him to the bottom of the stairs. 'Hold on to the banister,' she warned, placing a splayed hand against his back. The staircase was too narrow for her to do anything but walk behind him in case he toppled backwards.

'I'm not an invalid,' he said gruffly, the banister creaking as he pulled himself up the first few stairs.

'I know,' she said quietly, not removing her hand as he gave another unsteady heave. 'Let's just get you into bed.'

'What did I just say?' he roared suddenly, turning sharply to glare at her and almost taking her head off with a carelessly heavy hand. Minerva ducked back a step.

'I heard you,' she said, holding her hands up in a placating gesture. She was used to his fits of temper. He continued to glower for a moment before turning groggily to peer up the stairs again. He dragged his foot onto the next stair, Minerva following with one hand on the banister and the other hovering unseen at his back.

Several long minutes later they had finally made it to the bedroom. 'No, don't lie down, I need to get your cloak off,' she said, pulling him straight again when he teetered precariously over the bed. She undid the buttons for him, throwing the heavy winter cloak over a straight-backed chair in the corner. 'And your robes,' she added when he once again started to bend towards the inviting feather pillows.

He stared mutely over her head, blinking heavily as she unbuttoned the front of his robes and slid them off his shoulders, laying them on top of his cloak. She pulled back the bedcovers, holding his elbow as he sat heavily on the edge of the bed. By the look of his undershirt he'd worn somebody's drink and she pulled that off him as well, revealing a broad chest and a smattering of hair interrupted by a large stretch of scarred skin running down the left side of his body. Lastly, she unlaced his boots and pulled them off, tucking them beneath the chair-come-clotheshorse.

'Okay, you can lay back now,' she said softly, pulling the covers over him as his head hit the pillow. She went back out onto the landing to extinguish the lamps and gathered Helen's notes off the bedroom floor where they'd fallen, placing them with her wand on the bedside table, before climbing back into bed.

She's thought Silas was already asleep until he reached across the bed, pulling her easily into the middle of the mattress and laying his head on her chest, clinging to her as if afraid she would try to escape. 'I'm sorry, Min,' he said miserably, pressing his face into her nightdress. 'I'm sorry.'

'Shh, it's alright …' she murmured soothingly, smoothing his hair back. 'It's alright, pet, I'm here … no worries …' She closed her eyes as he took a great shuddering breath. 'Why do you do this to yourself, eh?' she whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of his head.

'I'm sorry,' he choked again.

She blinked back tears, his desolation as palpable as his embrace was crushing. 'I know you are, pet, I know you are …'

Seven o'clock the next morning saw Minerva looking pale and tired as she watched over the pan of porridge bubbling glutinously on the stove. She'd woken at three AM in a soaking wet bed, reeking to high heaven, while the perpetrator slept soundly on, oblivious to the fact that he was up to his armpits in the contents of his own bladder. She'd slipped out of bed, into the shower for a thorough scour and spent the rest of the night catching up on her reading.

She poured herself another cup of industrial-strength coffee and took the porridge off the heat. The floorboards overhead creaked indicating that sleeping beauty had finally awoken, stumbling around and swearing like a bear with a sore head. She rummaged under the sink for the bottle of Halliwell's Hangover Handler, depositing it on the table with a small measuring cup.

The sound of running water reached her from upstairs as she stood at the sink, coffee cup cradled in her hands, staring out of the window. The snow had started falling around four and now she could barely make out the cottage across the way for it. She wasn't looking forward to walking up to the school in this. She'd contemplated taking her broom but when visibility was this poor, not to mention the howling wind that had just kicked up, she'd be lucky if she didn't end up landing herself in a tree.

She'd just have to tough it out. She couldn't very well owl the school saying, 'Sorry, I know it's only my second day but I really don't fancy the weather. See you in spring.'

She sighed, rubbing her eyes. On the bright side, it was definitely going to wake her up. 'Bleugh,' she grimaced, turning away from the window, far from the high spirits she'd been in yesterday evening.

She began packing her schoolbag, casting imperturbable charms on it to keep the snow from the students carefully constructed notes and the lesson plans she'd drawn up for the rest of the week's classes. There was a draught blowing around her ankles despite the fact that she'd crawled around the house three days ago trying to plug up all the cracks but she didn't have the energy to go through it all again this morning. Maybe at the weekend. Maybe Silas would do it; given the weather he'd have to be pretty thirsty to walk across the village today.

Certain she'd packed everything she needed, she dished herself up a bowl of porridge, sprinkled a little sugar on top and sat down at the table. She stirred it unenthusiastically in her bowl, not really hungry but knowing she'd regret skipping breakfast come midmorning. She'd just finished washing her bowl and spoon when heavy footsteps on the stairs announced Silas moments before he appeared in the kitchen.

'Sleep well?' she asked loudly as he sloped through the door looking only a little the worse for wear after his shower. He grimaced, throwing her a filthy look. She arched an unimpressed eyebrow, clearly stating that his suffering was his own doing and her sympathy was already overtaxed.

She dried the dishes she'd just washed, filling the bowl with porridge and sliding it onto the table in front of him as he swallowed a shot of the luminous purple potion. 'Coffee?' She took his grunt to be assent and poured him a cup.

She looked at her watch, knowing she'd have to leave soon but wanting to get at least a little civil conversation out of him before she went. She hated the thought of leaving without clearing the air. 'How's your head?' she asked, leaning against the kitchen side.

'Fine,' he answered shortly, spooning porridge into his mouth.

'Yeah, it sounds it.' She shook her head at his pigheadedness, pulling away from the counter. 'Here,' she murmured, tilting his head forward and rubbing her thumbs up and down the back of his neck.

'Don't,' he growled, attempting to shrug her off.

'Silas-'

'I said _don't_,' he snapped, catching one of her wrists and pulling her aside. The unexpected jerk made her stumble into the table, sending his cup crashing to the floor and splattering his bare feet with hot coffee.

'For god's _sake_, Silas!' she fumed as he leapt up, cursing. She pulled out her wand, mending the broken mug and siphoning up the spilt coffee. Silas leaned against the table, standing on one foot and clutching the other. 'Here – let's have a look,' putting the cup back on the table. He looked as if he was going to protest again but she pre-empted him with a warning look, 'I swear to god, if you push me again, Silas, I'll hex your bloody hands off. Now sit down and give me your damn foot,' she ordered, face hot.

It didn't look too bad on closer inspection but she filled a shallow basin with cold water anyway and ordered him to keep his foot in it for ten minutes.

'It's no good glowering at _me_,' she snapped, tired, and hurt by his rejections. She looked at her watch again, forced to concede defeat. 'I've got to go,' she said, pulling her cloak off its hook and swirling it round her shoulders. She was just reaching for her bag when the walls shuddered and there was a tremendous banging, as if someone had taken a battering ram to the front door.

'What the hell-?' Silas got to his feet, trailing wet footprints as he exited the kitchen, Minerva following in his wake. He wrenched the door open, belatedly realising that he didn't have his wand when he was confronted with – with – well he wasn't really sure what it was, only that it was enormous.

'I'm looking Professor McGonagall,' came a muffled voice and a hand the size of a dustbin lid reached up, pulling the balaclava away from its face to reveal a tangled, bushy beard and beetle-black eyes.

'And who's asking?' he questioned, instinctively moving to shield Minerva from view.

'Oh, sorry, where are me manners?' he said, holding out a giant hand. 'Name's Hagrid, I'm assistant groundskeeper up at Hogwarts.'

Minerva slipped out from behind Silas's protective arm. Though they'd never been formally introduced, she remembered Hagrid from lunch yesterday. She looked at her husband, 'You remember Hagrid? He was in third year when you were in seventh.'

The dark look that crossed his face told her he did. 'Silas McGonagall,' he said grudgingly, ignoring the proffered hand. Minerva frowned at him.

Hagrid dropped his hand awkwardly, 'Yeh, I remember yeh – Gryffindor Keeper, righ'?'

Silas nodded, opening his mouth to speak but Minerva cut him off: 'What can I do for you, Hagrid?'

'Dumbledore sent me, thought you migh' have a bit o' trouble getting up ter the school in this snow,' he gestured towards a carriage and two stamping thestrals waiting just outside the gate.

'Oh,' she said, looking thoroughly relieved, 'fantastic. I was dreading going out in this. I'll just grab my things.'

'I'll wait by the coach,' said Hagrid, pulling his balaclava back over his face. 'Nice meetin' yeh, Mr McGonagall.'

'Nice' wasn't the word Silas was thinking. He was by no means a diminutive man at 6"4, with broad shoulders and enough bulk to make most people think twice before picking a fight, and yet he felt positively miniscule next to Hagrid. Add to that the fact that this man had been expelled shortly after a girl's death and he was quickly developing a problem with handing Minerva over to him.

'How's your foot?' asked Minerva, returning with her bag slung over her shoulder.

'My what?' he asked, still staring after the assistant gamekeeper.

'Never mind,' she said. 'Well, that's me off. I'll see you later.'

She leaned up to plant a kiss on his cheek but he caught her arm, looking confused, 'Wait – you're not seriously going to go with him?'

'Why not?'

'_Why not?_' he repeated incredulously. 'Are you out of your mind?' he said, looking at Hagrid again, who was holding the thestrals' reins and patting them affectionately, bundled up to the eyeballs to keep out the driving snow.

'Professor Dumbledore sent him,' she laughed, shaking her head, 'you don't seriously think he's going to murder me on the way up to the school?'

'I don't like it,' he growled, still glaring at Hagrid with some hostility.

'That's really sweet but I'm not walking,' she said firmly. 'Not that I'd have to if the Floo Office got their bloody act together,' she added, pulling on her gloves.

'I'll sort it,' he said, and for one she thought he actually might, judging from the determined look on his face as he narrowed his eyes at Hagrid.

She nodded, noticing the snow piling up inside the door. 'You'd better get in before you catch cold. I'll see you later. Promise,' she added with a small smile, squeezing his arm in reassurance.

He kissed her forehead and reluctantly let her out the door, watching as she climbed into the coach. Hagrid clambered up to sit on top and Minerva watched the roof nervously as it descended several inches above her head before peering out the window to see Silas still standing on the doorstep as the coach lurched forward. It really was sweet of him to be so concerned for her safety but she wished he'd put as much effort into other aspects of their marriage: a simple 'Good morning' every now and again wouldn't go amiss…

There was plenty of noise coming from the Great Hall though it wasn't even eight yet. She looked up at the enchanted as she walked through the door but looking up at falling snow always made her dizzy so she quickly looked back down, spotting Poppy at the staff table. She unbuttoned her cloak as she went, shrugging it off.

'Wasn't sure you were going to make it,' grinned Poppy, patting the empty seat beside her. 'Hell nor high water,' Minerva grimaced, dropping her bag and shoving it under the table with her foot. 'My god, it's cold out there,' she said, teeth chattering.

'Here,' said poppy, pouring her a cup of tea, 'get that down you.'

'Thanks,' she said gratefully, glancing up the table. 'No Dumbledore?' she asked, seeing Horace Slughorn eating what seemed to be four men's helpings of bacon and eggs.

'Not yet,' said Poppy curiously. 'Why?'

'He sent Hagrid down to pick me up on a coach this morning, saved me having to struggle. I just wanted to thank him.'

'Hagrid?' repeated Poppy, looking horror-struck. 'Blimey, I think I'd rather walk.'

'You and Silas both,' said Minerva, frowning. 'What's wrong with him?'

Anyone who was willing to battle the conditions outside on her behalf was alright in her book.

'Well there was that whole Chamber of Secrets business, wasn't there? She said, looking at her in much the same way Silas had. 'He got expelled and everything – they snapped his wand!'

Minerva shook her head, clucking her tongue. 'I was a sixth year when that happened and, you know, there was something that never quite fit about it. And besides, that was _thirteen_ years ago – he was only a kid. What's he done lately?'

'You mean apart from the monster fixation? He was talking about getting a pet griffin the other week!' she exclaimed, as if that said it all. 'He's bloomin' nuts.'

Minerva rolled her eyes. 'Well I think I'll reserve judgement, if you don't mind. Dumbledore trusts him.'

'Yeah, well Dumbledore doesn't exactly play with a full deck of cards, does he?' she said, raising her eyebrows.

'Good morning, ladies.'

Poppy froze in the act of raising her cup to her mouth, looking remarkably like a deer caught in the headlights. Minerva turned in her seat to see Dumbledore standing directly behind them, blue eyes twinkling with a definite sense of mischief.

'Morning, Professor,' she laughed. She couldn't help it.

Poppy turned to look up at him. 'Oh, good morning, Professor Dumbledore – didn't see you there,' she said, face crimson with embarrassment.

'Evidently,' he chuckled, inclining his head towards her in a short bow before turning to Minerva. 'I see that you arrived in good time, Professor McGonagall.'

'Thanks to you,' she nodded, feeling a squirm of discomfort wholly unconnected to the current topic. 'It was very thoughtful.'

'I couldn't help overhearing that you weren't connected to the Floo Network presently,' she'd been in full flow about the falling standards at the Ministry at lunch yesterday, 'and it seemed silly to have you wading through all this snow when Hogwarts has a fleet of coaches at its disposal.'

'In that case, thank you for eavesdropping,' she amended.

'You're quite welcome,' he assured her. 'Enjoy your breakfast.'

Minerva smiled and Poppy took great interest in her sausages as Dumbledore made his way along the table. 'Do you think we should have asked him to sit with us?' asked Minerva, worried she'd seemed rude.

'God no,' said Poppy, looking horrified at the suggestion. 'I'd have to think of something intelligent to say.'

Minerva chuckled, helping herself to a scone from the pile in front of her.

By lunchtime Minerva's second wind was waning. She yawned into her hand and got up for the third time since entering her office to stick her head out the window. She shivered as a blast of icy wind and a flurry of snow hit her full in the face. She slammed it shut again: there had to be easier ways. She'd been moving between the soporific effects of the fire and the bone-chilling weather in an attempt effort to stay both warm and awake but she was beginning to suspect that the two ends were mutually exclusive at this point.

She'd drunk enough coffee to fuel the Ravenclaw common room on the eve of a NEWT final and it seemed to be doing nothing more than make her twitchy. She sighed, sliding back into her chair and wondering if she could snatch a ten-minute nap before afternoon classes.

She tapped the face of her watch so it would wake her and settled her head on her arms. Just a few minutes and she'd be good to go…

'Sleeping on the job?'

Her head snapped up at the prod in the shoulder. 'Hmmm?' she blinked, sitting up and stifling a yawn behind her hand. 'Mr Pringle – to what do I owe this pleasure?'

The rangy school caretaker pretended not to watch as she stood and stretched the kinks and aches out of her back. He waved a gold-lettered wooden plaque, 'Professor Dippet asked me to put this up, and I'm to tell you there's a staff meeting at four.'

She nodded, 'Thanks.'

Apollyon shrugged, pulling a tube of adhesive out of his pocket as he crossed the office in three long strides. Minerva watched as he affixed the sign, stood back to inspect it and made a few adjustments. For some reason she'd always liked the irascible caretaker.

'Little buggers running you ragged already?' he asked, standing back to look at the door again.

'I thought you knew me better than _that_,' she said, sounding affronted but looking amused as she took a piece of parchment from her desk and dipped her eagle-feather quill into a bottle of black ink.

'Thought you might have gone soft,' he said with a twitch of his lips.

'When hell freezes over,' she replied, scratching out a hasty note to Silas to let him know she'd be late, 'and probably not even then…'

Satisfied that the plaque was level, he turned a rare smile on her. 'Same old Morgan,' he said, using her maiden name despite the fact he'd spent the last minute staring at her married one.

'I think I'm going to take that as a compliment,' she laughed.

'You do that,' he agreed. 'It's good to have you back.'

'It's good to be back,' she smiled.

He nodded awkwardly, stuffing the glue back in his pocket. 'Best get back: floors to scrub, students to terrorise and all that. I'll see you around.'

She watched after him until her watch began whistling shrilly. She hastily silenced it and folded the piece of parchment, tucking it into her pocket. She'd have to owl Silas at the end of the day, she didn't have time now.

She gathered together her papers and extinguished the fire and lamps, plunging the room into semidarkness. She couldn't help glancing at the nameplate as she shut the door, a warm rush of pride glowing in her chest as she read: _Professor M. McGonagall._

It had been a long time coming.


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: I'd tell you how long I've been working on this but that would just be embarrassing, so I'll just say Please review!**

**CHAPTER TWO**

**The DADA classroom was silent but for the scratching of quills as Professor McGonagall's fifth-year Gryffindors copied down their homework from the blackboard and Professor McGonagall herself marked the papers she'd collected in from her last class. The fire at the back of the classroom snapped loudly and she glanced up long enough to see Mr Garrett dipping Selene Dupree's long blonde hair into a bottle of black ink, while his partner in crime clapped an ink-stained hand over his mouth to stifle a laugh.**

'**Detention, Mr Garrett,' she said sleekly, noticing the colour recede from his face. 'And you needn't look so smug, Mr Golding, you will be joining him. My office at six o'clock.'**

'**But I didn't do anything!' he protested indignantly.**

**Minerva rose from her desk and made her way up the aisle of desks towards him. 'Really? Your hands are covered in ink and – though this may just be due to messiness on your part – I have the most peculiar feeling …' she had stopped just short of his desk and now turned towards the girl in front of him. 'Excuse me, Miss Jenkins,' she said, lifting one of her pigtails and finding the tip quite black, though the girl in question had red hair. 'As I suspected, Mr Golding. And I'll have ten points for that shameful attempt to escape punishment, unbefitting a member of Gryffindor House.'**

**She pulled out her wand and was surprised when both boys flinched. As if she'd ever harm a hair on the little terrors' heads, she thought as she siphoned the ink from the girls' hair and stowed her wand back in her pocket. 'My office. Six o'clock, boys.'**

**The rest of the class seemed unusually intent on their parchment for the remaining ten minutes of class. Minerva wondered if she hadn't been too hard on the boys. Then again, Garrett and Golding were famous pranksters at Hogwarts and it couldn't hurt to teach them that she expected a certain level of decorum in her classroom.**

**It did mean working late again though, an occurrence that was halfway to becoming a habit. The Christmas holidays had passed in a frenzied drive to finally make the cottage habitable and churning out lesson plans when she was working overtime at the school. She hadn't even realised it was New Years' Eve until the ringing of the church bells in the village square reached her ears as she decorated the spare room.**

**For the third night running she found herself in the frigid owlery, mailing a note to Silas saying that she would be eating at the school. She lingered at one of the glassless windows after dispatching the school owl, staring up at a patch of brilliant stars suddenly visible through a break in the clouds.**

**She hadn't really been able to see the stars when they'd lived in London; it was too big, too dirty a city. Minerva had never been one for city life. As a child she'd travelled with her parents on anthropological expeditions around the globe but more often than not she'd found herself in the rainforests of South America, or studying the desert tribes of the Sahara, not navigating urban jungles. Then, when her parents had died, she'd moved to Scotland to live in Aunt Medea's manor, running wild in the Highlands whenever she could get out from under her Aunt's disapproving eye.**

**That, of course, had been before Medea had cut her great-niece out of her life – and will - for eloping at seventeen. Medea had been used to being obeyed but Minerva had been headstrong, stubborn: she and Silas had plans, so many plans…**

**Those plans had counted for nothing in the end though, and she'd found herself trapped in London for twelve long years. For Silas, for the thronging, faceless crowds that did not care to notice him.**

**She was startled by the rushing of wings as the owl she had sent out returned, landing on the window ledge. 'Sorry, I haven't got anything for you,' she said, stroking its feathery head, fingers stiff with cold. The owl didn't seem to mind, its eyes half closed as she ran her hand once down its back before deciding that it was time to warm up.**

**Ten minutes later Minerva was in the staff room, where the sweet smell of pastries mingled with the scent of coffee and the stench of Professor Sororian's pipe. A babble of the day's trials and tribulations filled the air as the teachers took off their working caps and helped themselves to a custard tart or three. She still felt awkward around her peers, many of whom were her old teachers, and often avoided it though she loved the activity of the place of an evening. She still felt a slight thrill walking into the staff room, as if she was doing something illicit. It was proving more difficult than she'd imagined adjusting her mindset – she was not a student anymore.**

**She poured herself a cup of tea, teeth chattering, and wandered to the back of the room, looking for a free seat at the furthest fireplace. Professors Binns, Dumbledore and Slughorn were ensconced in a corner, quite concealed from view until she was almost behind the deputy headmaster's chair. She made to veer away but Horace Slughorn had already spotted her.**

'**Minerva, my dear, you look frozen stiff!' he exclaimed, causing several heads to swivel towards her and Dumbledore to rise to his feet. 'But you must take my seat,' insisted Horace, also on his feet.**

'**I couldn't,' she declined, taking a step back and shaking her head.**

'**Nonsense. I was just on my way down to dinner anyway. I insist you sit down and warm yourself,' he said, wafting her into the armchair.**

'**Thank you, professor,' she said, feeling her cheeks tingle as blood rushed into them. She sat down reluctantly, looking up at Slughorn as he shrugged off her thanks.**

'**Not at all, not at all. Well, I'll see you at dinner then, Albus.'**

'**Indeed you will,' nodded Dumbledore, seating himself again.**

'**Good evening, Minerva,' said Slughorn, making a small bow before leaving.**

**Professor Binns, who had not looked up all through the encounter, continued to float several inches above his chair, apparently engrossed in the evening edition of **_**The Prophet**_**. Minerva stretched her benumbed fingers towards the fire, shivering despite the burning heat.**

'**Working late again?' asked Dumbledore, carefully pulling the table and its teacups aside so Minerva could shuffle her chair closer to the fire.**

**She nodded with a small grimace. 'Is there a prize for the teacher who issues the most detentions? If there is, I'm a shoe-in,' she assured him.**

'**I'm sorry to say the students like to test the new recruits,' he said, with a commiserating smile. 'They'll settle down.'**

'**Hopefully before the end of the year.'**

**Her stomach did a queasy somersault at the thought of it: OWLs and NEWTs and end of year exams … the results of all her hard work. And then there was the fact that she had only been asked to take over because of the last teacher's sudden departure – would she be looking for another job in six months time? When the school had time to advertise for a more experienced teacher?**

**Which they would, if her students' test results weren't up to snuff.**

**Something of her thoughts must have shown on her face because Dumbledore said, 'They're not as bad as you think, you know.'**

'**I don't think the students are **_**bad**_**,' she negated and he laughed softly.**

'**I beg your pardon,' he said, attempting to smother his smile, 'I was referring to the exams.'**

'**Oh,' she blushed, looking down into her teacup.**

'**They're not as bad as you think.'**

**She shrugged, 'But they count for a lot. I mean, it says something if everyone fails their DADA exams, doesn't it?' She looked up at Dumbledore, feeling much as she had fifteen years ago: that he had all the answers. And though she had been telling herself that she was no longer a student, she felt as if a part of her would always be so when it came to him.**

'**For what it's worth, I don't think that's likely,' he said kindly, looking over the top of his spectacles. 'From what I've seen, and heard from others, you're doing a meticulous job. Even Mr Pringle seems happy to have his old nemesis back among us.'**

'**Is that what he called me?' she asked, raising her eyebrows. 'I wasn't the worst he had to contend with.'**

'**I think it was the difficulty he had in catching you, not the trouble you caused while you were on the prowl.'**

_**On the prowl.**_** She chuckled to herself. 'I'd have made a good cat-burglar,' she joked.**

'**Well I, for one, am glad that you decided to embark on a teaching career rather than a life of crime,' said Dumbledore. 'You mustn't put too much pressure on yourself, Minerva. You've already got the job, try to enjoy it a little.'**

'**Oh I love it,' she said quickly, afraid that she had sounded ungrateful.**

'**Then you have absolutely nothing to worry about.'**

**The house was freezing when she arrived home that night, her breath just visible in the light from the lamp-post outside. She stamped her feet on the rug, dislodging soot from the folds of her cloak, and turned to light the fire and lamps. All was quiet and still and it was clear that Silas had not been there in some time.**

**She shivered and went though to the kitchen, lighting the stove and sliding the copper kettle onto the hob. She put Silas's breakfast things in the sink and wiped down the worktops before filling a bucket with hot soapy water and setting the mop to washing the flagged stone floor. She took her tea upstairs with her, shivering still more as she ascended the stairs where the warm air had yet to penetrate. She made the bed, swept the floors and cleaned the bathroom, and by the end was ready to sit down and have another cup of tea – which was just as well as she had some paperwork to go over.**

**She set herself up in the living with her files, flexing her stocking-clad feet in front of the fire. She opened the dark blue accounts ledger on her small square table with a determined expression. Even at first glance it did not look encouraging but she picked up her quill and began to divide the pitiable amount left in their account between bills and necessities. She would have to go to Gringott's first thing in the morning and see to the rent, and some food in the cupboards wouldn't go amiss. And a new quill she thought longingly, looking at the increasingly ragged eagle-feather quill in her hand.**

**And ink…**

**With a sigh, she pulled out another piece of parchment and started to compile a list. Unfortunately, the longer she sat there, the longer the list became, whilst the pot from which it all must come seemed evermore insufficient. After an hour of shuffling, pruning and exercising every bit of ingenuity she had, she had managed to find the money to cover the essentials and closed the ledger with grim relief.**

**She was beginning to suspect it was cursed: every time she opened it she felt utterly miserable.**

**After throwing together a dinner of bangers and mash for Silas, she found that for the first time in weeks there was nothing begging her attention; she actually had some spare time, some Minerva-time. Her gaze alighted on the bookcase. Running her finger along their spines as she read the titles, she stopped on a stack of old **_**Transfiguration Todays **_**and tugged out the most recent. She had boxes filled with old subscriptions of the magazine in the cupboard under the stairs; perhaps she should offer them to Dumbledore for his students? It couldn't hurt to ask, she mused, flicking to the Tonkenstein interview on page 64.**

**Transfiguration was her passion. She'd spent the better part of twenty years studying it, devouring every book, every article she could find on the subject. At school she'd been referred to as 'Dumbledore's pet' more than once, and she'd spent the past three years working in Druary's, a second-hand bookshop on Diagon Alley, building up her library and discussing the finer points of Elemental Transfiguration with the more learned of their patrons. **

**In London she'd had more spare time than she knew what to do with, given that she didn't find endless nights at the Hag's Head as thrilling as Silas seemed to, and so she had read to fill the evenings. And read. And read some more, resulting in a thorough and formidable home education. Unfortunately, without the qualification to go with it, the London College of Transfiguration had refused to even let her interview for a post - no matter how proficient she claimed to be.**

**Lucky for her, Professor Dippet was more inclined to hire her, remembering her from her years first as Prefect, then Head Girl, when her academic record had been near flawless. Of course Silas wasn't as happy with the relocation but Minerva had to admit that being back at Hogwarts was a dream come true - even if she had sat through more detentions as a teacher than she ever had as a pupil.**

**Several more magazines had piled up on the floor next to her by the time Silas got home. She had been about to give up on him and call it night.**

'**Ah, you're home,' he said, swaying as he came into the living room and bringing with him a strong whiff of ale and pipe-smoke.**

'**Well where else would I be at this time of night?' she asked, scooping up the magazines and returning them to their shelf.**

**He shrugged, pulling off his cloak, 'Thought you were working late.'**

'**Not till midnight, I'm not,' she replied tartly.**

'**Is it?' he said in high surprise. 'Time flies, eh? What's for tea?' he asked, clapping his hands together and dropping his cloak.**

'**It's in the oven,' she said, rolling her eyes at the sight of him trying to pick up his cloak again. 'Here,' she said, bundling it into his arms. 'And mind the plate - it's hot!' she called after him as he disappeared into the kitchen.**

**She shook her head and picked up her workbag, biting her tongue to keep back the bitter words she longed to throw at him. Here she was, struggling to make ends meet, while he went off and drank like a fish. She checked she had everything for the morning, slowly counting to ten in her head. She was snapping the clasps closed when there was a yell and the sound of breaking china. She ran towards the kitchen, stopping abruptly in the doorway to avoid stepping in the dinner now splattered across her clean floor. Silas was swearing profusely, both hands pressed tightly under his armpits.**

'**Why didn't you tell me it was fucking hot!' he shouted.**

'**I did!' she retorted indignantly. 'I specifically said, "Mind the plate, it's hot". Maybe if you actually listened to me once in a while you might have heard!'**

'**What kind of idiot leaves a plate in the oven all night anyway?' he demanded.**

'**Oh I do beg your pardon. My fault: I thought you might actually come home before closing time.'**

'**Yeah, 'cause I'm rushing home to this,' he muttered sarcastically. He gingerly pulled his hands out of his armpits, examining his blistering fingers. 'Well don't just stand there, woman.'**

**She didn't move. She didn't want to clean up his mess - again. She didn't want to nursemaid him. She didn't even want to look at him right now, unless it was to aim.**

'**What are you waiting for? A bloody written invitation?'**

'**You're the one who's always spouting on about not being an invalid - why don't you clean up your own mess for once?' she challenged.**

'**You'd like that, wouldn't you? Standing back and watching me suffer,' Silas accused.**

'**You know what, Silas? Right now I probably would!' she agreed, fury written in every line of her face. She had to get out before she said something she'd really regret.**

**She shoved her feet into her boots, giving Silas one last furious look as she pulled down her cloak, broken china crunching underfoot.**

'**Where are you going?' he demanded, and Minerva was unwontedly satisfied to hear a note of uncertainty, even panic, in his voice.**

'**Wherever the hell I like!' she said, slamming the back door behind her.**

**Honestly! After everything she'd done for him! How dare he blame her? How **_**dare**_** he? If it wasn't for her there wouldn't be any dinner for him to come home to. Hell, if it wasn't for her he'd probably still be languishing in a secure ward of St Mungo's - or worse.**

**Her anger cooled a little at the thought. How could she regret saving him from that fate? Even if he was a little hard to live with, rather that than living with her own conscience had she abandoned him. Perhaps it was time she stopped hoping for Silas to return to the way he'd been when they got married, time to accept that he was never going to make a full recovery, time to stop being disappointed every time he fell in the door.**

**She wiped the moisture from her eyes, looking around and realising, for the first time, that she was on the path to Hogwarts. She knew she should probably turn around and go home but the message wasn't quite making it to her feet. It felt good to walk, it didn't matter where. And besides, Silas had probably already passed out.**

**Soon the castle came into sight, lights still burning in the Entrance Hall and student towers. She saw someone walking along a fourth floor corridor, probably Polly doing his rounds before retiring for the night. Across the dark, rolling lawns she also saw lights on the edge of the forest and smoke rising into the still air. It must have been Hagrid's hut; Ogg, she knew, stayed in quarters up at the school.**

**She stopped at the gates, gazing across at the small squares of light and wondering if Hagrid would mind a late night visitor. She wouldn't mind seeing a friendly face right now. Standing outside his door several minutes later though, she wondered if it was quite polite to call on someone after midnight. She could hear movement inside, the scraping of a chair and the crackle of the fire. She raised her hand, knocking quietly in case he didn't wish to be disturbed. **

**A few moments later however the door was pulled open and she took a step back, blinking in the bright light until Hagrid's massive shadow fell over her. 'Professor McGonagall!' he exclaimed, beaming in surprise. 'Bit late ter be out fer a walk, isn't it? Nothing the matter, is there?' he asked, smile slipping.**

'**Oh no, nothing wrong,' she assured him. 'I just saw your light on and thought you might be up…' It sounded silly now that she said it out loud and she felt her face redden. 'I'm sorry, it's late, you were probably on your way to bed-'**

'**Actually, I just made a pot o' tea, if yeh'd like one, of course,' he added, looking suddenly bashful behind his big bushy beard and eyebrows.**

**She smiled gratefully, 'I'd love one.'**

**Hagrid beamed again, standing aside to let her into the gloriously warm house. She was surprised at its tidiness: brass pans hanging from hooks driven into the overhead beams, three enormous pairs of boots standing neatly against the wall, his bed made - he was like no bachelor she'd ever met. The only thing that seemed to be out of place was a large furry coat thrown over the end of the bed. He beckoned her into a chair at the scrubbed wooden table and she felt like a child when she sat down, unable to touch the floor with her feet, the edge of the table at chest level.**

**Hagrid fetched two bucket sized mugs from a shelf and sat down, too, pouring them both a strong, dark brew with a splash of milk. 'What are yeh doing out so late anyway?' he asked, pushing one of the mugs towards her.**

'**Just… fancied a walk,' she said, looking at the table top.**

'**Trouble with the fella?' he asked and she looked up sharply. 'Not that it's any of my business,' he added hastily. 'It's just that I walked with him after we left the pub tonight, just got in meself,' he said, pointing towards the discarded coat, 'an' I noticed he was a bit the worse fer wear…'**

'**Yes, well…' she stared down into her tea, feeling suddenly self-conscious.**

**Hagrid seemed to realise that she didn't want to talk about Silas, changing the subject less than subtly: 'So, how about that last Gryffindor match, eh?' **

**Minerva chuckled. 'Didn't think Wrigley was going to save that last try from Ravenclaw.'**

'**I didn't think Wrigley was goin' ter **_**survive**_** that last try from Ravenclaw,' he said, looking relieved. 'He caught that bludger right in the gut. Don't know how he managed to stay on the broomstick.'**

'**We Gryffindors are made of sturdier stuff,' she said proudly. 'I once played half a match against Slytherin with 3 cracked ribs. I'd gone streaking up the pitch with the Quaffle and Mulligan caught me right in the side with a bludger; I turned over in the air twice. And that's nothing compared to some of the horror stories I've heard.' **

**From there the conversation had descended into a blood-bath of Quidditch injuries and Minerva was feeling considerably better as she prepared to leave an hour later.**

'**Thank you for having me,' she said, pulling a scarf from her cloak pocket and wrapping it securely around her neck. Hagrid opened the door for her.**

'**I enjoyed the company,' he said, waving away her thanks.**

'**Me, too,' she smiled, pulling her cloak tighter as the first tendrils of cold snaked around her legs. 'I'll see you at school.'**

'**Righ'. Night, Professor.'**

'**Goodnight, Hagrid.'**

**New frost crunched underfoot as she made her way home. The lamps were still lit when she got there and she took a deep breath before opening the front door - just in case.**

'**You came back.'**

**Silas stood up as Minerva walked into the living room. She looked at him for a long moment. She loosened her scarf, dropping her gaze as she shrugged off the cloak. 'I thought you'd be in bed by now.'**

'**I'm sorry, Min,' he said. 'You know I didn't mean it.'**

'**Do I?' she asked, laying her cloak over the back of an armchair.**

'**Minerva…' he breathed, placing his hands on her shoulders. She allowed herself to be turned to face him. 'I'm the idiot around here. I wouldn't even get out of bed in the morning if it wasn't for you. I don't know what I'd do if I lost you…'**

'**Then don't lose me.' She shook her head, pulling away. 'Saying you're sorry isn't enough anymore. I'm tired of trying to hold things together on my own.'**

'**Tell me what you want, tell me what you want and I'll do it. Min, I'd do anything for you.'**

'**What do you think I want?' she asked incredulously. She shook her head again, toeing her boots off as the silence lengthened. They both knew the answer but somehow it had become the great unmentionable elephant in the room.**

'**It's late and I've got to be up early,' she said finally. 'Don't forget to put out the lamps before you come up.'**

**Silas was waiting for her by the time she'd finished in the bathroom. She climbed into bed without a word, blowing out the candle on her bedside table. Silas got into bed beside her, addressing her back.**

'**I know I'm not the easiest person to live with, and I know that I don't deserve you, but I love you, Min, and I'm going to try harder. I want to be better for you… it's just, it's hard for me.'**

**Minerva turned to face him, just able to make him out in the darkness. 'I just want you to try.'**

'**I know,' he said, grasping her hand between his bandaged ones.**

'**Not just for me.'**

'**There's no reason without you. Forgive me,' he asked, caressing her cheek. 'Forgive me for forgetting how lucky I am.'**

'**Silas…' **

'**I'll do better. I swear I'll do better,' he promised.**

'**I **_**want**_** to believe that.'**

'**You don't have to, I'm going to prove it to you. Just promise me you'll be here.'**

**Minerva felt herself relenting, unable to watch him beg anymore. 'I'm not going anywhere,' she promised.**

**Two weeks later Silas had managed to stay true to his word: he'd made dinner no less than three times, gone to war with the thicket of brambles in the back garden and, more importantly, made a real effort to cut down on his drinking. Minerva knew that he was still spending his afternoons in the pub while she was at school but he was usually there by the time she got home or soon after and the strain on her purse had eased considerably, if not entirely.**

**It hadn't been all sunshine and roses though and Minerva couldn't help but feel partially responsible. She'd always known that Silas's drinking was a side-effect of a deeper problem but had not fully appreciated just how much the alcohol dulled the symptoms. For the past eight nights running he'd had nightmares so severe that Minerva had been forced to vacate to the spare room or risk serious injury from his flailing limbs. Trying to wake him had proved more hazardous than not when he had mistaken her for an attacker and thrown her bodily from the bed and she grimaced now, as she stood in her locked office, looking at her bruises in a compact mirror she had magically enlarged.**

**There were several long contusions across the back of her arm and the top of her back where she had collided with the heavy Victorian radiator. Unlike the bruise to her ribs that she had gotten from an elbow several nights ago, she could not point her wand at the proper angle to heal the new ones and she dare not ask Silas; she knew how upset he'd be if he knew of the injuries he'd inflicted.**

**She eased her robes back up over her shoulder with care, biting her bottom lip to contain a hiss as she buttoned them up again. There was a knock at the door. 'Just a minute,' she called, slipping the top button through its hole as she walked across the room. 'Polly,' she greeted, opening the door. 'What can I do for you?'**

'**Got a message for you,' he said, entering the office, 'and don't call me Polly.'**

'**But it suits your sunny disposition,' she said innocently.**

'**Hmph,' he grumbled, crossing his arms, 'and I suppose you'll be calling Professor Dippet 'Twinkle Toes' next?'**

'**Or not,' she laughed, wincing slightly. 'What was the message?' she asked, carefully rotating her shoulder.**

'**Our young Mister Hagrid requests the pleasure of your company later, he seems to have taken a shine to you,' he said, watching her. 'Something wrong with your shoulder?'**

'**What? Oh no, I think I just slept on it funny,' she lied, crossing to her desk. 'It's just a bit stiff.'**

**She grabbed a piece of parchment to write a quick acceptance note to Hagrid as she didn't have time to go looking for him herself.**

'**Ouch!' she yelped at the sudden pressure on her shoulder, flinching away.**

''**Just a bit stiff'?' Apollyon repeated, dropping his hand as she turned to fix him with an annoyed grimace.**

'**Very well, a lot stiff. What was that for?'**

'**Forgive me but that's no stiff shoulder.'**

'**Excuse me?' she questioned and not because she hadn't heard him the first time. **

'**What happened?'**

'**What do you mean, what happened?'**

'**I mean, what **_**really**_** happened?'**

'**I **_**really**_** just slept on it funny,' she answered shortly.**

'**I don't think-'**

'**I don't care what you 'think',' she said, looking at him as though she thought him slightly mad. **

**There was a knock at the door before Apollyon had a chance to respond and they both turned to see Professor Dumbledore.**

'**Professor McGonagall, just the person I was looking for. Not interrupting anything, am I?' Dumbledore asked, looking from one to the other.**

'**Not at all,' said Minerva quickly, sparing a half glance in Apollyon's direction. 'Mr Pringle was just leaving.'**

**Mr Pringle looked like he was going to do nothing of the sort. Seeing that Dumbledore was growing more suspicious by the moment, Minerva hoped that Polly could see the silent plea in her eyes.**

**He continued looking stony for another moment before relenting. 'I'll tell Hagrid you'll see him at four then, shall I?'**

'**Thank you,' she said, and he nodded to Dumbledore and left.**

'**That looked serious: nothing the matter I hope?' inquired Dumbledore solicitously.**

'**Not at all,' said Minerva, 'just a misunderstanding. Anyway, how can I be of service?' she asked, glancing at the clock as she turned to address the deputy headmaster.**

**Professor Dumbledore did not seem to entirely believe her explanation but allowed her to change the subject as she pleased. 'I was wondering if I might ask a favour. I'm running a Transfiguration refresher on Thursday night for my seventh years, a chance for those in need of a little extra tuition to improve. I was hoping Miss Jarvis would be there.'**

'**And I've got her in detention Thursday night,' she said, nodding her understanding. 'I'm happy to reschedule.'**

'**I would be much obliged, thank you,' he smiled, blue eyes twinkling. 'Perhaps, if you are not otherwise engaged, you would like to join us? I could use a willing assistant.'**

'**But an unwilling one will do?' she asked, smiling slightly. An evening spent teaching Transfiguration with Dumbledore? 'I look forward to it. What time?'**

**End of part two…**

**AN: I love Dumbledore and McGonagall scenes, maybe I should go back to writing ADMM! Fluff, fluff! Review!**


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER THREE - The Survivors of Nurmengard**

Thursday dawned bright and breezy but by the evening the wind had swept in heavy rain clouds and there was a definite hint of thunder in the air. Minerva could see nothing but her own reflection in the dark window pane as the first spatter of rain glanced off it.

'Okay, back to work then,' called Professor Dumbledore, after a brief tea-break, and Minerva turned away from the black window, placing her empty cup on one of the tables which had been pushed up against the wall. 'We'll be practising human transfiguration next. Professor McGonagall and I will give a short demonstration. Requests are taken,' he smiled mischievously as Minerva joined him in the centre of the room. The half-dozen students shuffled back to sit on the desks.

'And points for imagination,' she added, feeling a thrill of excitement as she arched an eyebrow at Dumbledore. Beyond the sheer pleasure of stretching her magical muscles, she was also secretly hoping to impress Dumbledore with how much she'd learned since the last time she'd stood in this classroom.

Dumbledore chuckled and bowed, 'Ladies first.'

Minerva raised her wand, looking to the students for inspiration. Elephant, giraffe and hippopotamus were among the suggestions. 'Space is a bit of an issue,' she reminded them. 'Okay, how about…' she flicked her wand and Dumbledore disappeared, replaced with a magnificent blue peacock. There was laughter and a smattering of applause and she gave a short bow before transfiguring him back.

'Hardly felt a thing,' he said approvingly. 'Now, my turn…'

Minerva looked nervously at the students, who were obviously thinking hard.

'Tarantula!'

'Penguin!'

'Crocodile!'

Dumbledore turned back to McGonagall and she smiled, nodding slightly. A moment later she was a twelve-foot crocodile standing monstrously in the middle of the classroom. Emily Raven screamed, clinging to one of her male classmates when it turned lamp-like yellow eyes on the students against the wall.

Minerva returned to herself with an amused smile. With a flick of her wand she transformed Dumbledore into a toad. He croaked loudly and hopped forward.

No sooner had she changed him back than she found herself a tortoise on the floor.

Then he was a hare.

Then she was a zebra.

A walrus… a gazelle… a flamingo… and all the while the seventh-years were clapping and egging them on as the changes became faster and faster. An oyster… a dolphin… a panda… a skunk… a duck-billed platypus…

Dumbledore flicked his wand and Minerva was a tiger.

At least, that was what he'd intended, but suddenly she was shrinking and he knew that whatever was happening, he had not done it. He looked around at the pupils: not one of them had their wands pointing at his assistant and yet she was growing smaller by the millisecond. He was about to attempt to transfigure her back when she seemed to settle in the form of a small tabby cat. A moment later she returned to her bipedal form.

Dumbledore frowned. He hadn't done that either. 'I think that's enough demonstration. If you three could practice with Professor McGonagall…'

It was quarter to ten by the time they wrapped up and Minerva stayed behind to help put the classroom back together. She was just tucking in the last chair when Dumbledore seated himself on the edge of the desk, looking pensive.

'I didn't want to say anything in front of the students,' he began and Minerva felt her stomach flip over, feeling just like a naughty schoolgirl. 'But what you did earlier, I'm afraid I have to ask - are you an unregistered animagus?'

She laughed in relief; she'd thought she'd done something wrong whilst instructing the students. 'Am I…? Of course not! Why wouldn't I register if I was? It would look great on my CV.'

'You once said that you would have made a good _cat_ burglar.'

'I was joking!' she said with incredulity, and a hint of panic. 'I - I've read books, I know the process, but I've never put it into practice! The results could be catastrophic without an experienced mentor supervising.'

'Which seems to beg the question: How did you Transfigure yourself without a wand?'

Initial panic subsiding, she now turned her thoughts to that very question. 'I've got at least two-dozen books on the subject and not one of them mentions performing the reverse transformation without first learning to transfigure _into_ an animal. There are potions, procedures…' she bit her lip in consternation.

'Do you recall making a conscious effort to change?' he asked.

'No, it was more like I like I _expected _it to happen. I thought you were about to do the reversal spell, we'd been going back and forth so quickly, and there I was, back on my own two feet.' She looked up at him with kindling excitement as she asked, 'Do you think I'd be able to do it again?'

'I think it would be prudent to find out just what _did_ happen before we try to duplicate it,' he said, mentally retracing his steps. 'I was attempting to turn you into a tiger. I completed that transformation and then either you took over, or I made a mistake.'

'I've never seen you make such a basic mistake and I can't believe you've started now,' she said quickly. Which left only one option. 'Why the cat and none of the other animals?' she mused.

'The wizard or witch doesn't choose what animal they'll become, though usually they reflect personality and appearance in some way - you know what they say about owners looking like their pets.'

'You think that would be my animagus form then - if I had one?' she added hastily. 'You transfigured me halfway there and then I just sort of did the rest? I mean, like I said, I've studied it but that's a far cry from practical implementation.'

'I would not underestimate your abilities, Minerva. You always did have a particular flare for Transfiguration.'

She pulled out one of the chairs and sat down. 'How peculiar…'

'Indeed,' he agreed. 'Worthy of further investigation - tomorrow,' he added at her look, knowing full well that if they started on the books tonight they'd probably still be at it when morning classes rolled around.

She smiled, guessing his thoughts.

'So, what did I look like? As a cat I mean?' she asked, resting her chin on her hand.

'You were a grey tabby,' he answered, and she smiled still wider.

'I'd like to do it someday,' she confessed, a dreamy look in her eye. 'If I can convince someone to take me on. It takes some people years to learn.'

'You've already spent years studying the subject from the sound of it,' he said with same confidence he'd shown when she'd confided her fears of exam time. 'At this rate I shall have to look out for my job.'

She shook her head, 'I think there's an unwritten rule somewhere: Thou shalt not covet thy boss's job.' She shrugged, smiling sheepishly, 'Well - maybe if you didn't want it anymore…'

Minerva was practically walking on air when she arrived home that night. She and Dumbledore had sat talking for another hour and a half and she had quite lost track of the time, immersed in the intricacies of every article from Sanderman's Theory of Aspidosis to Reginald Roseman's supposition that Crups secretly had the ability to transfigure themselves into rugs.

She had thoroughly enjoyed herself. Not even the accursed accounts ledger could dent her mood tonight. She went into the spare room where she'd stashed some money in the back of an old wardrobe. She wasn't usually in the habit of secreting money about the house but she could see Silas's resolve starting to crack and wouldn't put it past him to nick off with the food-shopping money if she left it lying around.

She tapped the bottom panel with her wand and it swung open to reveal the hidden but quite empty compartment. She swore, plunging her hand into the cubby-hole as though she couldn't believe her eyes. 'No, no, no, no,' she negated, running a hand through her hair.

She knew she should have done a better job of hiding it, should have kept it at work, should have done the shopping yesterday, none of which helped her now. 'Damn it!' she fumed, kicking the wardrobe.

It was then that she heard the front door open and close, and tore downstairs. 'Where's the money?' she demanded, catching up with him in the kitchen.

He looked both wary and defiant, his soaked cloak drip-drip-dripping on the stone floor. 'Gone,' he shrugged, not even trying to deny it.

'There must be something left,' she argued.

He stuffed his hand into his pocket, throwing three bronze coins on the table.

She stared at the money, too horrified and angry to say anything straight away.

'So that's it, is it?' she questioned, voice thick with disappointment. 'Two weeks of trying and then back to the same old Silas? All that rubbish about wanting to be better,' she laughed bitterly, 'and I fell for it!'

Silas turned away, hanging his cloak up to avoid looking at her though the copious amount of mead he'd drunk dulled the guilt substantially.

'You realise that was all the money we had?' she said. 'God, do you even care?'

He rubbed his nose with the back of his hand, looking supremely unconcerned. 'So you have to wait a week for some quills and ink.'

'Quills and ink?' she repeated shrilly as the first flash of lightning illuminated the kitchen. 'To hell with quills and bloody ink, Silas! We've got no food! I don't get paid for another week - what do you propose we live on till then? _Thin air_?'

'But you'll have squirreled away something…'

'Yes!' she agreed, 'Which you took and spent at the bloody pub! Damn it, Silas! You can't just spend whatever you want anymore, that's how we got into this mess in the first place. We can't afford to keep the Three Broomsticks' tills full, and now we can't even afford to eat!' she said despairingly. 'Are you happy with yourself?'

He didn't answer, but gazed steadily somewhere over her left shoulder, every word she'd said seeming to soar straight over his head as the wind began to pick up, whipping rain at the window as if were gravel, not water.

'You're not even listening to me, are you?' she said, her anger swelling like the storm outside. 'You don't care about the mess you've landed us in. Well, I hope you're good and drunk because that's the last drink you'll be seeing for a long time,' she promised.

This, at last, provoked a reaction. 'You can't do that.'

'Why the hell not?' she countered. 'I'm the one earning all the money - when you get a job you can spend your wages on whatever you like.'

His face reddened but he did not retort.

'Of course, you don't like the sound of that, do you? You've lived a life of leisure for so long you've forgotten how to be useful. Let Min go out and earn the money-'

'Don't go acting like you're sorry you're working up at that school,' he started up hotly.

'That's not the _point_!' she cried in exasperation.

'Not everyone's as perfect as you, Min!'

She could feel herself reaching boiling point, two seconds away from turning him into a toad. 'Just - get out of my sight,' she said through gritted teeth, unable to even look at him anymore. 'Go. I'll sleep in the spare room tonight.'

After he'd gone, she sank down at the table and wept.

Minerva spent most of the weekend at the school going through Transfiguration books with Dumbledore, though they had yet to find anything like what had happened at the refresher night. Usually she would have been in seventh heaven spending time with her old mentor but, with everything else going on, she hadn't been much in the mood for company or the enquiries said company had inevitably made.

Of course she'd told him that everything was fine, she was just tired, the usual excuses. The mere thought of actually telling him the truth made her feel sick with shame.

She hadn't spoken to Silas since Thursday night and he had not attempted to

persuade her to, though whether out of guilt or anger she didn't know or care.

This was not the man she'd married. The man she'd married had been energetic and adventurous, arrogant at times perhaps, but one of the best friends she could ever ask for. Nurmengard had made him cold and distant, as if a glass wall had descended and they'd gotten stuck on opposite sides. She had learned to live for the brief and increasingly rare moments when he looked at her with even a shadow of the love they once shared, wanting to believe that _her_ Silas was still in there somewhere and given enough time, he would find his way back to her.

This was the first time in twelve years that she'd truly been forced to confront the reality of Silas's drinking, the first time she'd really needed him. The money she'd inherited from her parents should have been enough to take them on their dream round-the-world trip and pay for a deposit on a house; instead it had been squandered.

She had seen it coming of course but teaching jobs were scarce in London and her job at the second-hand bookshop in Diagon Alley just didn't bring home the newts' tails. Foolishly perhaps, she had expected Silas to start pulling his weight when faced with imminent destitution and it had been an unpleasant surprise to learn just how far he'd go to quench his thirst.

'Careful, your face'll stick that way…'

She blinked, looking up from the fourth-year essay she had been not-marking. 'Pardon?'

Mr Pringle lurked in the doorway, neither in nor out, 'You looked a million miles away.'

'Not quite that far,' she said. 'Come to enquire after my health again?' He shrugged and she kicked herself for the antagonistic tone. 'How was your weekend?' she said, starting again.

He seemed to take this for both an apology and invitation. 'You mean apart from running around after this lot of toe rags? Visited some friends in Edinburgh. You?' he asked, turning the chair in front of her desk so that he could monitor the corridor as he sat down.

'I've been doing some extracurricular research with Dumbledore,' she said, picking up a pile of papers and opening the top drawer of a nearby filing cabinet.

He smiled, 'You don't want to go working too hard, they'll expect it all the time.'

'Well, I'm not afraid of a little hard work,' she said, flicking through the files.

'No, you never were, so tell me: Why'd it take you so long?'

Minerva's hands momentarily paused in their search. 'I don't know what you mean.'

'It just strikes me as odd that a person who gears their entire education towards becoming a teacher would take over a decade to actually do it,' he said mildly, pulling at a loose thread on his robes.

'It wasn't the right time,' she shrugged.

'Why not?'

She turned to look at him, 'I get the feeling you already know why.'

'I have my suspicions,' he admitted. 'You know it wouldn't hurt for you to talk about it once in a while.'

'What's to talk about?' she said. 'My husband prefers a pint to me.' She tried to smile but couldn't seem to push it past the sudden lump in her throat.

Apollyon got up and closed the door. When he turned around she had her back to him, trying to hold onto what little dignity she felt she had left.

'Hey,' he murmured, placing a hand on her shoulder.

She turned, wiping her eyes. 'I'm sorry. I'll be fine in a minute.' The words sounded sincere enough but did not stop more tears from rolling down her cheeks.

He pulled her into a hug and she barely resisted, pressing her face into his shoulder, a sob forcing its way out. 'There, there,' he said, not sure what else he was supposed to say; he hadn't thought that far ahead.

Thankfully, what he was already doing seemed to be enough and a few minutes later she had pulled herself together enough to be embarrassed by the whole situation.

'I'm sorry,' she said again, accepting the handkerchief he offered her. 'I'm not usually like this. I feel an absolute fool. '

'I won't tell anyone,' he promised, sitting her down on his chair while he set to making a pot of tea. 'Besides, it looks like you needed it.'

'I'm sorry-'

'Stop apologising, woman,' he said firmly.

'Woman?' she repeated, momentarily diverted.

Apollyon looked over his shoulder as he put the kettle on the fire to boil. The corner of his mouth twitched. 'You heard me.'

She sniffed, half smiling. 'If you say so.'

They were quiet for a time while Apollyon finished the tea and Minerva mused on the fact that Polly really wasn't as bad as he'd like people to think.

'Ready to talk?' he asked, handing her a cup and pulling the other chair round to the front of the desk.

'What, the crying wasn't enough for you?'

'I'm a glutton for punishment,' he joked.

She stared down into her tea, shaking her head, 'No, really, I'm fine now.'

'Well that makes one of us. Come on, tell me what's going on. I'll only imagine the worst otherwise.'

'Come on, Polly. Do I have to hex you to prove that I can take care of myself? Because I'll do it,' she threatened, trying to lighten the mood.

'I'm not joking.'

'What makes you think I am?' she countered, eyebrows raised. 'Look, I don't have to explain myself to you.'

'No,' he agreed, 'but it would make me feel better.'

'You know you're working yourself up over nothing,' she said, not sure whether to be peeved or touched by his intrusiveness.

'Prove it,' he challenged.

She stood up, perhaps thinking that physical distance could somehow insulate her from his reaction. 'I'm not sure you'd understand.'

He could see that the lid she usually kept firmly on her private life starting to prise open, the urge to speak overwhelming her usual sense of propriety. 'Try me,' he said, more gently.

She leaned back against the window sill, surveying him for what seemed like a long time. Finally, she began to speak.

'You know we got married young. I was barely seventeen, we were both still at school, but we were happy, in our own way,' she began, paying more attention to the cup of tea in her hands than Apollyon. 'Then that damned war with Grindelwald started up and Silas just had to go. His mother's Russian, his parents were in the resistance; his uncle and grandfather worked for their Ministry of Magic and were amongst the first to disappear.

'I begged him not to go or at least to wait until I'd finished school. It was only a month, just till I'd taken my exams. He sent me an _owl_ telling me what he'd done and not to follow him. And I didn't,' she said, bitterly regretting that long ago decision. 'I stayed here and aced my exams, I even went to college for a few months,' she shook her head, as if marvelling at some youthful triviality. 'Then I got a letter from Silas's mother saying that he'd disappeared and I couldn't sit on my hands anymore. I went to Russia.'

'But surely you must have known, if he wasn't dead there was only one place they would take him,' said Apollyon, wondering if he hadn't already heard enough of this story. It could lead to nowhere good.

'How could I not go? If I'd gone with him in the first place-'

'Sounds to me like leaving you behind was the only smart thing he ever did. Nurmengard's no place for a woman, it's no place for anyone.'

'I know,' she said softly, gaze unfixed, remembering all too vividly the horrors of Grindelwald's Nurmengard. 'But if there was even the slightest chance he was still alive, I had to go.'

'_Gryffindors_,' said Apollyon, shaking his head. 'Always rushing headlong into danger.'

'Aren't _you _a Gryffindor?' she asked.

'Yeah, so I know what I'm talking about,' he said matter-of-factly, almost slopping tea down himself.

Minerva chuckled quietly, 'I can't argue with that. Courage and sense are not soul mates.'

'That's because anyone with a lick of sense would know better than to put themselves in a situation that could get them killed.'

'Some would say it's better to die a meaningful death than live a meaningless life.'

'Is that what you thought twelve years ago?' he asked and she looked down, shrugging.

'I just knew that sitting at home, not knowing what had happened to him, was a million times harder than risking my neck. We'd been together for four years, married a year and a half: that's practically a lifetime to a teenager. I'd have gone to Hell and back for him,' she half-smiled, rolling her eyes. 'I _did_ go to Hell and back for him.'

'Took me weeks to get there with all the antiapparition nets, and of course the muggle transportation networks were in chaos, too. By then I thought I'd be lucky to get his body back: the closer I got to Nurmengard, the worse the stories got. None of them did it justice.'

'You got inside?' said Apollyon in a hushed, horrified kind of voice, one leg slipping off the chair with a thud. 'What about the guards?'

Minerva cleared her throat, frowning slightly as she said, 'Durmstrang used to take its students on guided tours of the outer prison; with all the opponents he was throwing in there, it was built in two parts: The tower, for the people who posed the greatest threat, and the wall, Grindelwald's sick idea of a zoo, his way of saying 'This is what happens to those who oppose me', cells driven right into the fortress wall.'

She stopped, her lips a thin line of anger and disgust. 'I still looked school-age and I'd learnt enough Russian from Silas to slip in with one of the classes, Transfigured my robes to look like theirs. You can't imagine the conditions inside, you wouldn't want to.'

Minerva wished she could erase the images from her memory but knew they would haunt her to her dying day. Prisoners crammed into cages too small to stand or lie comfortably in, forced to sit in their own filth, the only food that which the jeering spectators threw for sport, tortured for _sport, _some of them much younger than her. The cries of the living, the moans of the dying, the rigored hands of the dead still reaching out for mercy and finding their only relief in death, god, the whole place _reeked _of death and disease. The cruelty of it was beyond her comprehension. Most of these people were guilty of nothing more than being muggle-born.

'I almost didn't recognise him when I found him,' she confessed, looking slightly nauseated. 'He'd already been there for five weeks.' It was all the explanation needed.

Apollyon shook his head disbelievingly. 'I can't believe you went into Nurmengard _alone._ What were you thinking? You could've landed up in the cage next door to Silas!'

'I _tried _contacting Silas's parents when I got there,' she said hotly, 'but their resistance cell had been badly hit a few weeks before. Neither survived.'

'I suppose you'll be telling me you tried to spring him yourself, too, next?' scoffed Polly, daring her to say as much, a fierce look on his pale face.

'No,' she answered, cheeks burning. 'I watched the prison for a week, managed to throw Silas some food, but I couldn't find a way to get him out, not without getting caught,' she said acrimoniously, far from as happy about this as Polly seemed to be. 'I had no choice but to come back to Britain to try and find help.'

'It was the smart thing to do.'

'Didn't feel like it,' she said shortly, chewing her lip as she stared stonily at the floor.

'You did everything you could, more than anyone could possible expect-'

'It doesn't matter,' she said, placing her cup down on the window-sill. 'It was a long time ago. Anyway, two weeks after I got back Dumbledore defeated Grindelwald. Everybody knows the story after that: Nurmengard was liberated and the few survivors were transported back to their native countries. The newspapers had a field-day.'

'And what happened to you?'

'Well, Silas was 'disturbed' to say the least after being stuck in that hell-hole for two and a half months. He was in hospital for a while, and when he came home .. That's when he started drinking. At first I was just happy that he was getting out of the house but then he was coming home paralytic every night. I wanted him to talk to someone but Silas wasn't having any of it. Before I knew it, ten years had gone by.'

'So what changed?' asked Polly.

'Like you said, I've always wanted to be a teacher. I saw the advert in the Daily Prophet and thought it was worth applying.' She didn't want to say _because we were flat-out broke_. 'I thought a change might do Silas some good, too. Maybe I just wanted to believe that because _I _wanted to be back here so much. Guess I didn't think it through very well.'

'Don't you think after a decade you deserve to do something for yourself?' he said.

'Not when it's having this kind of effect on Silas,' she answered, shaking her head.

'What effect is that?'

Minerva shifted uncomfortably and began pacing the room. It felt like a betrayal somehow, talking about Silas behind his back like this. To talk about the past was one thing, it was her past too, but she wasn't sure she should say anything more on the present situation.

'Thinking the worst …' reminded Polly as the silence stretched out and Minerva paused in her pacing long enough to shoot him an irritated look.

'How would you feel having people talk about your personal business?'

'Nothing if I didn't know about it,' he answered promptly, earning himself another look.

'You're impossible.'

'And you're avoiding my question.'

_Then ask another one,_ she thought acerbically. 'It's not his fault, you can't blame him.'

'For what?'

'He still has nightmares and - sometimes - he doesn't know what he's doing - but sometimes he - he mistakes me for someone else,' she said finally, her shoulders slumping at the admission. 'He doesn't know he does it.'

Apollyon sat up in his seat, 'If it's all so accidental why don't you get proper treatment for your injuries?'

'Because I don't want people to look at me the way you are now,' she said, half blushing under his pitying gaze. 'And it's never been anything serious, just a few bruises.'

'It still doesn't seem right,' he said.

'Well, that's just life,' she said waspishly. 'Now can we please drop this?'

Half an hour later she was is the school kitchens, trying to escape several house-elves who insisted on plying her with food. 'No - thank you,' she protested over and over again, 'This is more than enough. No, I really shouldn't, it'll ruin my appetite.' She finally managed to back out of the portrait, sighing with relief. She wiped her forehead, belatedly realising that one of the house-elves had thrust a cream-filled chocolate éclair into her hand at the last moment, leaving a sticky streak over her eyebrow.

'Urgh,' she grimaced, pulling a tartan-edged handkerchief out of her pocket and cleaning herself up.

The house-elves' generosity only made Minerva feel all the more guilty. Taking food from the school wasn't something she relished doing but she had limited options. The worst of it was that she was stealing it when they would gladly have given it to her if she'd only asked. But she didn't want anyone to know how desperate their money situation had become.

She consoled herself with the fact that this would never again be necessary. She didn't intend to let things get this out of hand a second time.

She was just pocketing her handkerchief again and moving up the corridor when two Hufflepuff fourth-years appeared around the corner. They nodded to her as they passed and she returned the gesture, running smack into someone very tall and slender as she rounded the corner a second later.

'Excuse me,' she said automatically before realising it was Professor Dumbledore she had unwittingly bumped into. The pastry she had still been carrying slid down the front of his robes as she watched, landing with a soft slap between them on the flagged floor. 'Oh! I'm so sorry,' she said, clapping a horrified hand to her mouth. 'Here, I've got a handkerchief here.'

'Not to worry,' said Dumbledore, pulling out his wand and siphoning up the spilt cream, 'though I'm afraid your bun has had it.'

She looked down at the éclair lying pathetically on the stone floor, banishing it with a flick of her wand. 'It's just as well, it probably would have ruined my appetite anyway,' she said, her heart pounding in her chest. Of all the times, of all the places she could bump into him, why here? Why now?

'A little indulgence now and then never hurt anyone and the house-elves do have a habit of creating surplus. I confess I was looking to indulge my sweet-tooth when I ran into you,' he smiled. 'Care to join me?'

She shifted her bag on her shoulder, feeling the guilty weight of the food inside. 'No - thank you - I should be getting home.'

'Another time, perhaps,' he said, bowing slightly and holding her gaze for a moment. 'Have a pleasant evening.'

'Yes,' she nodded, smiling politely. 'You too.'

She strolled away calmly until she was sure he was out of earshot, at which point she hurried back to her office, resting against the closed door for a moment before throwing a pinch of floo powder into the fireplace, hand trembling.

Never again, she promised herself as the green flames leap up around her. Never again.

AN: Review! Review! This is the last of the ready-made chapters so I'm gonna have to get back to actually writing so you guys need to review lots and hope that I finish!

Thanks,

Aphelionite


	4. Chapter 4

AN: And like magic, the rest of the chapter appeared! lol.

* * *

**Chapter Four - Running in Circles**

It was a clear, fine Saturday morning in Hogsmeade. The sun was shining, the birds were singing and the tangle of seemingly dead bushes in the McGonagalls' garden was starting to sprout green buds. Minerva was just wondering what they actually were when she heard footsteps on the stairs.

'It's bloody freezing in here,' complained Silas, wrapping his arms around himself as he entered the living room.

'Nonsense,' said Minerva, punching a sofa cushion into shape, 'the place could do with some fresh air.'

'In case you haven't noticed, it's the middle of February,' he grumbled, shuffling off to the kitchen. 'You've got the back door wide open!' he shouted back and she rolled her eyes, shaking her head as she replaced the last cushion on the sofa and, picking up her half finished cup of coffee, followed him into the kitchen.

'Good morning,' she said pointedly, crooking a finger for him to bend and kiss her. 'Coffee?' she asked when she was satisfied.

Silas lowered himself into a seat at the table. 'Please,' he said, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Bright sunshine streamed in through the kitchen window, compensating - in Minerva's opinion - for the slight nip in the air.

'I thought you were working today,' he said as she placed his coffee in front of him five minutes later.

'I am,' she nodded, hanging the tea towel over her shoulder, 'which reminds me -can you steer clear of The Three Broomsticks today, please? The students have got a Hogsmeade trip.'

'Is that today?' he asked mildly, touching a finger to the surface of his coffee.

'Mm-hmm,' she nodded, wiping down the table top, 'I'm on escort duty.'

'So what time have you got to be there?' he asked, eyes fastening on a small golden key which swung loose as she lifted his coffee cup and wiped underneath.

'Eleven,' she said, seeing where his attention was fixed. She straightened up, tucking the gold chain and key back inside her blouse as she turned away. 'I was thinking of going down to London first but it's always packed on Saturdays, so I'll leave it till tomorrow. I should go into work early anyway, I forgot some papers last night that need marking.'

He nodded, sipping from his cup, a cool breeze from the back door ruffling his hair. Minerva rinsed the dishcloth in the sink, closing her eyes momentarily, the sun warm on her face. 'Do you want anything for breakfast before I go?' she asked, squinting as she looked back at Silas.

'No thanks, love,' he shook his head, 'not hungry.'

'You sure?' she asked, crossing the kitchen. 'I'd think you'd be ravenous after last night.'

He looked up as she perched herself on the edge of the table, trying not to smile too widely. 'There's life in the old dog yet,' he said with a hint of a smile, taking up her left hand and stroking a thumb over the gold band on her finger.

'Have a mentioned that I love you lately?' she asked, enclosing his hand between hers.

'I wouldn't blame you if you hadn't,' he said quietly, before lifting his gaze to hers again. 'How does a bloke like me marry a woman like you?'

'Quickly - before she changes her mind,' she said, chuckling at her own wit.

'Very funny,' he said, pulling his hand away.

'I'm sorry,' she apologised, not quite managing to stifle her smile. 'I was joking!'

'I thought you were going to work,' he said grumpily.

'Don't worry, I'll be out of your hair soon enough,' she promised, ruffling his hair as she got up and making him scowl even more. 'What have you got planned for today, anyway?'

He shrugged, 'Trent's doing some landscaping down Vesta's. said I might help out.'

'It's lovely weather for it,' said Minerva, sincerely hoping that he'd go through with it for his own sake. She thought that earning something for himself might give him a confidence boost. 'Well, if you're alright I think I'll make a move,' she said, downing the remainder of her coffee. 'Think I'll walk - maybe we can take a walk together later,' she suggested with a coaxing smile as she shouldered her bag, 'if the weather holds?'

Silas got to his feet, 'Maybe,' he nodded, planting a whiskery kiss on her cheek and squeezing her arm. 'Have a good day.'

She beamed, kissing him. 'I should be back before five,' she promised. 'See you later.'

She practically bounced out of the house, waving to Mrs Gevenny from the cottage across the way, who was weeding her garden.

There were half a dozen students milling around the Entrance Hall, some waving bits of toast at her as she walked through to the Great Hall. Half the school seemed to be there, getting an early breakfast before going into Hogsmeade. She overheard Mr Garrett telling a third-year girl that Mr Ramsbottom, the Hogsmeade confectioner, kept a basilisk under the shop to stop kids nicking stuff.

_If she's silly enough to believe it, she deserves to be duped, _thought Minerva, but caught Garrett's eye in warning all the same. She didn't fancy chasing up the high street after hysterical Hufflepuffs.

Poppy smiled at her as she approached the High Table, 'Morning, Min.'

'Don't call me Min,' she warned across the table, pouring herself a glass of pumpkin juice.

'Aren't you staying?' asked the trainee Healer, looking at the glass.

Minerva shook her head, 'Haven't got time. You're coming into Hogsmeade later though, aren't you? We could walk down together,' she offered, feeling slightly guilty.

'If that's the best you can do,' she agreed, looking put out for a moment but seeming to get over it quickly enough. 'Meet you at the main doors at ten to eleven?'

'It's a date,' Minerva smiled, waving to Professor Slughorn as he joined the staff table, yawning widely. 'I've got to go. I'll see you later,' she promised.

* * *

'You're in a good mood,' observed Poppy as they walked across the school lawns an hour and a half later.

Minerva shielded her eyes, watching the groups of students ahead of them. 'Am I?' she replied, nonchalantly.

'Happier than I've seen you in weeks,' nodded Poppy. 'Not that I've seen you much in the last few weeks …'

'I know, I've been -'

'Busy, yeah, you said,' said Poppy, rolling her eyes. She shrugged, 'But you're here now and we've got all afternoon to catch up.'

For some reason this dampened rather than raised Minerva's spirits. It wasn't that she didn't like the trainee Healer, she was usually bubbly and easy enough to talk to, but their conversations seemed to continually roam back to two things: men and shopping. Two subjects that held little interest for the DADA professor. Poppy seemed not to notice the occasional glazed expression on Minerva's part.

Minerva forced herself to look pleased, 'Wonderful.'

'I was thinking we could stop off at Gladrags first,' said Poppy, immediately confirming Minerva's worst fear. 'I saw some robes in there last week that are to _die_ for…'

She continued on in the same vein all the way into Hogsmeade, scarcely requiring a response, which was just as well as Minerva had a limited knowledge of fabrics or the latest fashions. Wearing what was in Witch Weekly had not been top of her agenda lately - nor at any other time, come to think of it.

'…maybe the pink ones, or the blue, I'm not sure. I get so sick of wearing _green_ all the time. Not that there's anything wrong with green,' she added, eyeing Minerva's emerald robes. 'I mean it's alright for _you_, of course, they match your eyes, but I have to wear _lime_ green robes all day long and I really think the blue would look much better on me,' she concluded, as they came upon Gladrags clothes shop. 'Anyway, I can try them both on and you can tell me which is better,' she said, pushing the door open.

A bell tinkled somewhere in the back of the shop as they entered. Apparently Poppy was not the only person who had a little shopping in mind as several girls were exclaiming over a rack of - in Minerva's opinion - ridiculously short robes. Minerva would be terrified of the slightest of breezes in those skirts.

'Over here, look,' said Poppy, dragging Minerva towards the back of the shop. She held up one of the sleeves on a pair of pink robes, turning expectantly to Minerva. 'What do you think?'

'They're very, um, bright,' she said, examining them at arm's length, her eyes watering a little.

'Well you don't want to be a wallflower all your life,' mused Poppy, riffling through the hangers on the next rail. 'Ooh, this would look great on you!' she exclaimed, pulling out a hideous set of violet robes and holding them up to Minerva's slight frame.

'I don't think so!' laughed Minerva, catching sight of herself in a mirror.

'No?' asked Poppy, looking surprised. 'Okay, how about…' she began rummaging again.

'I thought you were going to try these ones on?' said Minerva, trying not to vomit as she looked at the magenta robes.

'We have to find something for you to try on too,' she said impatiently.

'If it'll make you happy,' said Minerva, and in the interests of getting it over with as quickly as possible she began looking through the various garments too, though unlike her lively friend she gravitated towards the more subdued colours. 'How about these?' she suggested a few minutes later, holding them up.

'Really?' asked Poppy. '_Black?_'

'Each to their own,' said Minerva, taking down the pink and handing them to Poppy.

'I suppose,' she said, looking unconvinced but following Minerva towards the changing rooms.

Minerva walked into a free cubicle, ignoring the giggling school-girls next door as she pulled the curtain across and unbuttoned her robes. She slipped the green robes off her shoulders, hanging them up next to the plain black ones. She was about to slide the new ones off their hanger when she noticed a large green blot on her white cotton slip. 'Oh no…' she grimaced, touching a hand to the stain which looked suspiciously like the shade of ink she used at work.

She lifted the key on its chain. It had been lying directly underneath the ink stain and she could only conclude that it had somehow fallen into her inkwell during the course of her marking that morning. _Great_, she thought, taking it off and holding it up in the light. The intricate design of the Gringotts' key was now emerald green with ink. She rummaged in the pocket of her robes for her wand.

She removed the stain from her slip first before raising the tip of her wand to the small golden key. She paused, something striking her as odd. She frowned, turning the key over in the palm of her hand. Something about this was - _wrong._ She stared, the laughter from the cubicle next door sounding suddenly far away.

And then it clicked. Goblin-made things didn't get dirty. So if it was dirty it wasn't Goblin-made. And if it wasn't Goblin-made…

'No,' she said disbelievingly.

'Wrong size?' asked Poppy, suddenly sticking her head around the curtain.

Minerva automatically grabbed her robes, attempting to cover herself. 'I'm a Healer - I've seen it all,' she said, laughing. 'What's taking so - my god, what happened to your shoulder?' she asked, looking in the mirror behind Minerva.

Minerva hastily pulled her own robes back on, buttoning them up with her wand. 'I have to go,' she said, opening the curtain properly and shoving the black robes onto the nearest rail. 'I just remembered I have an appointment, an important appointment,' she invented wildly, and badly. 'Do you think you could cover for me?' she asked, already halfway to the door. 'I'll be as quick as I can.'

'Well, yes, but-'

'Thanks, Poppy, you're an angel! I'll be an hour tops,' she said, pulling the door open and, knowing that Poppy could not follow dressed as she was in bright pink robes, making a quick getaway before she could protest, shouting 'I owe you one!' over her shoulder.

Once on the High Street she made her way back in the direction of the house as quickly as she dared without drawing attention to herself. 'Silas!' she shouted, opening the front door and half running into the disappointingly empty kitchen. 'Silas, are you here?' she called, taking the stairs two at a time. He was nowhere to be found.

She hurried back downstairs, taking a pinch of Floo powder and throwing it into the fireplace. 'The Leaky Cauldron,' she said clearly, stepping into the green flames.

There was a steady stream of witches, wizards, hags and goblins making their way in and out of Diagon Alley when she arrived at The Leaky Cauldron and she had to wait for several people to jostle past before she could approach the bar. The barman looked about twice Minerva's age with a couple of missing teeth and receding brown hair. 'Tom, have you seen Silas today?' she asked, squeezing between two wizards on stools with a hurried, 'Excuse me'.

'Yes'm ma'am,' said Tom, scratching his head. 'He was in 'ere 'bout, I dunno, two hours ago?'

'Going to Diagon Alley?'

'Yes'm,' he confirmed.

'And he hasn't been back since?'

'Not tha' I seen, ma'am, an' I sees most fings what goes on in 'ere.'

'Okay,' said Minerva with a sigh, looking around the pub as though still hoping to spot Silas. 'Thanks, Tom.'

The Alley was bustling with people as she stepped through the brick archway onto the cobbled street. Gringotts rose brightly up ahead and she made as direct a line for it as she could, scanning the crowd all around as she wove between the late-morning shoppers. Once, she thought she saw him ducking into Victor's Vineyard but upon peering through the window found the man to be older than Silas, with a moustache to rival Albus Dumbledore's.

Gringotts' main hall, though brightly lit with dozens of torches, seemed gloomy after the dazzling sunshine outside. At least a hundred goblins sat on high stools behind the counters encircling the room. Minerva joined a line with only two people ahead of her and after a few agonisingly long minutes found herself face to face with one of the diminutive cashiers.

'Good morning,' greeted the goblin, his voice low and gravelly. 'How may I assist you today?'

'I would like to inquire about my account,' she said, anticipating his next request as she rummaged in her pocket.

'Key, please,' he said even as she placed the small golden key on its chain on the counter. The goblin took one look at it before sliding it back across the counter and declaring, 'That, madam, is a fake.'

'Yes,' she agreed, ignoring the nearby workers who'd looked up at their fellow's declaration, narrowing their pitiless black eyes, 'I thought as much. In which case, my key has been stolen. Has anyone accessed my vault this morning?'

She held her breath, held onto a shred of hope that Silas had thought better of his plan.

'I did not deal with the transaction; one moment, please,' he said, holding up one long, thin finger as he summoned a goblin several seats away. 'Gralnak!'

'Vault 398,' she said unnecessarily as he approached.

The two goblins conversed briefly in Gobbledegook.

'Well?' she demanded, tapping her fingernails on the counter. 'How much was taken?'

'Vault 398 has been emptied,' he said simply.

She swore vehemently under her breath.

'How the hell did this happen?' she demanded. 'I thought this was supposed to be the safest place on earth?'

'Nothing has been stolen,' said the goblin scornfully. 'The man in question was Silas McGonagall - he is your spouse, is he not?'

'Well, yes -'

'Then, under goblin law, what is yours is his.'

'And you didn't see fit to tell me this when I opened the account?' she hissed furiously.

'It was in the papers you signed,' said the goblin, shrugging nonchalantly.

'In Gobbledegook!' she argued in a high-pitched whisper.

There were a few seconds of nasty silence as the goblin surveyed her, before saying, in his lowest growl, 'Is there anything else I can help you with today, madam?' and glancing at the security guards near the doors.

'No,' said Minerva, following his look and getting the point all too well. 'No, I think you've done enough for one day,' she said grimly, pocketing the fake key again and making a swift exit.

Once outside however it was all she could do not to sit down in the middle of the street and cry. She looked around helplessly at the busy street: Silas could be anywhere by now, absolutely anywhere. No, she told herself, not anywhere. Unless he had returned home, he had to be in London somewhere, he didn't like it anywhere else, and odds were he was in a pub … maybe an off-license …

She descended into the crowd once more, weaving between lunch-time shoppers as she headed for the uninviting avenue just beyond Ollivander's. She glanced over her shoulder before disappearing into the gloom.

Even the sunshine didn't seem to want to enter Knockturn Alley and she didn't blame it. Before she'd passed the first store-front she was accosted by one of the alley's less savoury peddlers, who thrust a tray of curved yellow fangs towards her.

'So much as open your mouth and I promise you, you'll spend the rest of your life clucking like a chicken,' Minerva threatened pre-emptively, including the half a dozen others with a sweeping glare. 'I'm not interested in purchasing your … wares,' she said, with a wrinkle of her nose as she saw what looked horribly like a human eye displayed, amongst other things, on a makeshift table.

They muttered sourly under their breath but made no attempt to change her mind. She strode briskly on down the narrow, winding street, peering in windows and poking her head through the occasional doorway until she reached The Hangman's Noose. The grime-smeared door groaned heavily as she pushed it open.

At first all she could make out was the dimly lit bar at the back and a few dark shapes huddled round the small circular tables. She hurried across the sawdust strewn floor to the young man tending bar. 'Have you seen Silas?' she asked without preamble. This wasn't the first time she'd been in looking for her errant husband. 'Has he been in today?'

'That you, Minerva?'

'Rusty?' she countered, peering around at the table closest to her, where a middle-aged red-headed man sat beaming at her.

'It hasn't been that long, has it?'

She smiled half-heartedly and patted Rusty on the shoulder. 'How are you?' she asked, more out of politeness than interest.

'Better than you by the looks of it,' he chuckled, as ever immune to gloom. 'I imagine you didn't just decide to stop in for a pint?'

Minerva shook her head. 'I'm looking for Silas. You haven't seen him, have you?'

'Matter of fact he was in here 'bout an hour and a half ago. Looked like he'd had a win at the races…' he trailed off at the look on her face.

'Did he say where he was going?' she asked, weakly, leaning a little on the back of Rusty's chair for support.

'I'm not sure, The Hag's Head, or Hog's Head,' he said uncertainly. 'Didn't he like to prop up the bar over at the Hag's Head? I'll bet that's where he's gone.'

Six months ago Minerva would have agreed but they had since moved into the vicinity of The Hog's Head, which complicated matters slightly. 'Thanks, Rusty. I'll see you later.'

It took her another ten minutes to Floo back to the house from the Hangman's Noose, reaffirm that Silas was not there, and make her way across Hogsmeade. Half the school seemed to be wandering the streets, enjoying the fine weather and change of scene. The third-years were particularly enjoying themselves, running from shop to shop and generally getting underfoot, and she threatened more than one of them with being sent back up to the school of they didn't curb their enthusiasm.

She was relieved not to run into the school's trainee healer on her travels and managed to slip into the Hog's Head unseen. A cursory sweep told her that Silas wasn't there but, since she was here, she might as well ask. 'Aberforth - it _is _Aberforth?'

'You're that new one up at the school, aren't you?' he said gruffly. 'I've just had your other half in here kickin' up a stink 'cause I wouldn't serve him anymore. Two pints he went through, just like that!' he complained, snapping his fingers. 'Could hardly stand up!'

'How long ago did he leave?' she asked breathlessly, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

'Not long,' he said. 'Left five, ten minutes ago, on his high hippogriff.'

'Do you know where he went?'

'I keep the bar not the people,' he said grouchily.

'Okay,' she said gratefully, turning to leave. 'Thanks, Aberforth.'

She half ran into the street, looking up and down the road. She must have missed him by minutes. He couldn't have walked home up the High Street - she would have seen him. She headed up Baily Lane, a dirt track running up around the south-west side of the village. The students didn't walk this way, there was nothing out here to look at but wild fields and back gardens. She abandoned appearances and ran up the lane, mud splattering her robes despite the fact that she was keeping to the grass verge as much as possible, the tiny village church ringing out half-past twelve.

'Silas!' she shouted as soon as she had flung open the back door. 'Silas McGonagall, you show your face this instant!' she yelled, rushing through the empty living room and up the stairs.

Nothing. No one. She'd been sure he would be here.

Where else could he have wandered so quickly if he was in the state Aberforth suggested? He could have laid down under a bush and gone to sleep for all she knew. What was she supposed to do now? Search every garden in Hogsmeade?

She sat down at the top of the stairs, head in her hands. She couldn't believe he'd done this. And then she couldn't believe that she hadn't seen it coming. What else could inspire him to act so sweetly this past week but the promise of a binge if he pulled it off?

'Bastard…' she whispered, two fat tears rolling down her cheeks as she bowed her head in defeat.

And then it occurred to her that there _was_ somewhere else Silas could be. She walked right by it on her way to the Hog's Head.

'He wouldn't,' she said out loud. She repeated it as she wiped her face, and again as she got unsteadily to her feet. 'He _wouldn't_.'

But if her wasn't here and he wasn't there, he had to be somewhere in between …

'Please tell me he hasn't,' she prayed, as she found herself once again rushing out the door.

* * *

AN: Mwah ha ha ha ha … please review, unless you already reviewed the partial chapter, in which case - Ta!


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5 - The Three Broomsticks

* * *

It took all the willpower she had not to run. It was agonising, pretending to walk along so sedately when every minute that passed could be another nail in the coffin of her professional reputation. She passed Misters Golding and Garrett outside the sweet-shop, looking hot and bothered and arguing over whether to go to Zonko's or The Three Broomsticks for a chilled pumpkin juice. They weren't the only ones either; many of the students were ridding themselves of a layer of clothing, overdressed for the unfeasibly warm weather. Minerva sped up with a growing sense of dread as some of them headed for the pub.

She took a second to prepare herself before stepping over the threshold. It took her a moment to see him as her eyes adjusted to the gloom, a mixture of relief and fury pounding through her veins at the sight of him. He was standing at the bar, swaying slightly as he argued with the barmaid. Already several of the students were watching the exchange with interest.

'…haven't had enough. I've got a pocket full of gold and it's all for you, my love, so how's about you get us that drink, eh?' he slurred. A few of the kids snickered behind their hands as Minerva took what little self-respect she had left and put it away somewhere safe until this was over.

'Time to go, I think,' she said, taking Silas's arm.

He turned to squint at her. 'Oh! Look who's here!' he exclaimed, pulling out of her grip and staggering back a couple of paces. 'My - other - half.'

An excited whisper went through the room around her but she couldn't take her eyes off Silas. '_Please,_ Silas,' she pleaded quietly. 'Please don't do this to me. Not here.'

'What's the matter, Min?' he asked harshly, 'Ashamed to be seen in public with me?'

Minerva said nothing. This wasn't happening. This was some awful nightmare and she was going to wake up from it any second now… any second…

'Don't want all the little kiddies to see the useless cripple you married?' he queried, spreading his arms wide as if to exhibit himself to the room. He turned to the barmaid again, knocking on the bar, 'How's about that drink, Annie?'

'You've had enough to drink for one day, sir, and I've already asked you to leave,' she warned.

'Then how's about one for my lovely wife? Now she looks like she could use a drink. Loosen you up a bit, love!' he shouted, though Minerva was only a few feet away.

'Stop this,' Minerva whispered, all the blood gone from her face.

'Stop what? Embarrassing you? Bit late for that - they all know now, don't they?' He seemed to derive a certain satisfaction from this and underneath the layers of inebriation was a dark gratification at seeing her squirm. 'I - what was it you said? Ah yes - I've 'forgotten how to be useful',' he recited, sketching quotation marks in the air. 'I'm no good to anyone, that's right isn't it, Minerva? I should be put down like an old dog.'

'Right, that's it,' said Annie, throwing down her dishcloth and stalking out from behind the bar. 'I think you've said enough. Get out.'

'But I want to buy all my little buddies a drink,' he said, pulling a handful of coins out of his pocket and throwing them high into the air. The people at the nearest table covered their heads as they all came tumbling down again, spinning and scattering on the wooden floorboards, Minerva's hard-earned money rolling away in every direction. A couple of people in a far corner cheered.

'You've got ten seconds to get out of here or it'll be a lifetime ban!' said Annie furiously, brandishing her wand.

'I'll get him home,' said Minerva, moving forward. 'Silas, come on. You're not doing yourself any favours here. _Please,_ Silas,' she added, scrupulously avoiding looking at any of the tables.

But Silas wasn't quite done yet. 'Go home with you?' he scoffed, 'I'd as soon curl up to sleep beside a dragon! Have you seen what she did to me for being home late the other night?' He held up the still-marked hands he had burnt on his dinner plate, showing off the shiny pink scars. 'What do you think she'll do to me for this!'

Minerva felt the burn of two dozen pairs of eyes on her but was too busy staring at Silas in utter amazement at the cruel and incomprehensible falsehood he'd just fed these people, her own students. Until, that is, he was jerked unceremoniously into the air, what little change there was left in his pockets raining to the floor. He let out an indignant howl as he flew towards the door and out into the street. The owner had apparently reached her limit.

'And in future,' said Annie, looking livid as she turned to Minerva, 'I'd appreciate it if you'd keep your domestics out of my pub.' She returned to her bar leaving Minerva still rooted to the spot, staring at the door Silas had flown through where none other than Albus Dumbledore stood looking grave enough that she couldn't doubt he'd heard at least part of the drunk man's ravings. This was too much. She was getting a little punch-drunk.

She closed her eyes, took a deep breath then followed Silas and Dumbledore outside to find Silas struggling to his feet. 'I'll help you get him home,' said Dumbledore.

'No, really - it's fine,' said Minerva, averting her eyes from the curious passersby as she attempted to help Silas stay upright.

'Minerva? What's happened? What's going on?' asked Poppy, breaking away from a group of sixth-year girls nearby. 'Is he hurt?'

'No, he is not hurt,' snapped Silas. '_He's_ perfectly fine, thank you very much for your concern.' He glowered for a moment before pulling away from his wife and beginning to wind his way up the street. Dumbledore paused for a moment to speak to Poppy but Minerva went on with Silas, trying to steer him clear of any more incidents before they reached home. 'Everyone seems to think I'm a bloody invalid,' he muttered, stumbling on a loose cobble. 'I can walk up the god damned street,' he said, righting himself.

'I'm not interested in your 'poor Silas' routine right now,' she hissed under her breath. 'You'll be lucky if I don't smother you in your sleep tonight and put you out of your supposed misery!'

'You're just pissed off that I outsmarted you,' he murmured malevolently, stumbling again, and she could have pushed him on his face. 'Outsmarted her'? Surely he meant 'used her in the worst possible way'? It hadn't had time to sink in yet but she was pretty sure it wasn't going to ease the strain on their marriage when it did. He had seduced her in order to steal her Gringotts Key and let her walk out of the house this morning thinking that they had turned a corner, happy in her total ignorance of his ulterior motive. Outsmarted? It was the dumbest move he'd ever made! She refrained from telling him so though as Dumbledore had caught up with them, minus Poppy.

'You still here?' said Silas, shooting Dumbledore a disgusted look as he fell into step beside Minerva.

'Silas!' remonstrated Minerva, glancing apologetically at Professor Dumbledore, 'Remember who you're talking to.'

'Oh I remember, the great Albus Dumbledore. Tell me, where were you while me and mine were being tortured and killed by Grindelwald? Something important no doubt, some beard-judging contest.'

Minerva gasped and could not have looked more mortified. 'I think you'd better get inside,' she said to Silas in a deadly voice before turning and apologising profusely to Dumbledore (though by this point she felt she was past all hope of salvaging her position at Hogwarts). Silas pushed his way through the gate and disappeared into the house without another word, the best decision he'd made all day.

'I can take it from here,' Minerva said quietly.

'I'd like a word before I go,' said Dumbledore, looking grave as he surveyed her.

Minerva swallowed but nodded once. 'Of course,' she acquiesced reluctantly. What else could she do?

Silas was still struggling to undo his cloak when she got in and, in the interests of getting him out of the way quickly, she helped him with it. 'Why don't you go and lie down,' she suggested.

Silas ignored her, gaze fixed instead on their guest. 'Make you proud, does it? Seeing how all your hard work paid off?' he laughed. 'Really worth the effort!' he said sarcastically. 'Just ask Min - you're grateful, aren't you?' he said, a strange glitter in his eye.

'Yes,' she said with quiet conviction, 'I am.'

'Liar!' he shouted furiously, grabbing her arm and shaking her.

Dumbledore started forward, 'Unhand her-'

'Silas, no!' cried Minerva, seeing him go for his wand and attempting to bat it out of his hand. He shoved her aside hard and she stumbled, colliding with the wall. Her temple hit the corner of a picture and it fell, smashing on the floor as she sagged, momentarily dazed.

There was a thud of flesh on flesh, a flash and a bang, and Silas lay sprawled on the floor. 'No!' she cried, pushing away form the wall and throwing herself on the floor in front of Silas. 'Don't hurt him!' she begged.

Don't hurt _him_? thought Dumbledore incredulously, putting a hand to his nose, which was bleeding profusely. Meanwhile Silas was coming round from his momentary stupor looking ready to continue their tete a tete, despite the fact that he was now wandless.

'Silas, _no_!' she shouted, struggling to keep him where he was. 'Please, just go,' she said, addressing Dumbledore again.

'I won't -'

'You're only making things worse!' she said desperately, no match for her husband.

'Get out of the way!' roared Silas, finally making it to his knees and pushing himself to his feet again. Minerva followed, once again putting herself between the two wizards only this time facing Silas, her arms outstretched as if she could block Dumbledore from view.

'I should have died in that prison! You should have let me! You took that from me and now you're taking her-' he raved, face red with rage.

Minerva was yanked backwards as he charged a second time and found herself suddenly looking at Dumbledore's back. Dumbledore flicked his wand and Silas froze to the spot. For one teetering moment she thought he would fall, his fist drawn back, an ugly snarl upon his face but with a second flick, Dumbledore set him firmly on his feet.

Minerva moved slowly from behind Dumbledore, looking pityingly into her husband's face. For a moment words failed her. What the hell was going on in his head?

'You should go,' she said finally, turning back to her no doubt soon to be ex-boss.

'And leave you here? With him? Like this?' he asked, indicating Silas, who she had to admit, was looking pretty ferocious right now.

'I can handle Silas,' she assured him.

'Minerva, I simply can't-'

'With all due respect, Professor, you can and you will. I know you're just doing what you think is right but what I have to do is take care of Silas right now and I can't do that with you here. Please go, please. He won't hurt me.'

'He's already hurt you!' Dumbledore reminded her sharply. There was a trickle of blood down the left side of her face where she'd hit her head.

'It's nothing,' she said, wiping some of the blood away with her hand. 'Head wounds bleed more.' She pursed her lips at the look Dumbledore gave her. 'I used to play Quidditch!'

Dumbledore knew that his hands were tied. She had every right to turf him out of her own house. 'I still want to meet with you. Today. At your earliest convenience,' he pressed.

Minerva agreed, feeling sick to her stomach at the thought. 'I'll come up to the school when I can.'

Dumbledore gave her a serious look. 'I'll be waiting.'

* * *

Dumbledore did not want to leave her there and had done so most unwillingly. That had been several hours ago and it was dark now, with still no sign of the DADA professor. If anything had happened to her…

He had no doubt that Minerva was perfectly capable of defending herself when she chose to, but that was the sticking point: she had not reached for her wand once during the commotion at lunchtime and, while he admired her forbearance, he rather feared how far she would let Silas push her before it ran out.

The sounds of people in the corridor outside his office began to die away as the last of the students made their way to their dormitories for the night and the clock on the wall chimed nine o'clock. Dumbledore pushed back his chair and walked over to the window, surveying the shadowed grounds. Nothing moved beneath the wide starry sky. It seemed even Hagrid had foregone his almost nightly visit into Hogsmeade, the small square windows of his hut glowing in the darkness as the winter chill returned with biting exuberance.

He strolled over to the fire, warming his hands before the leaping, well-fed flames when the fire flickered and changed and Professor McGonagall's head appeared there. 'May I?' she asked.

'Of course,' he said, stepping out of her way as she flooed in, landing neatly on the burgundy rug.

She looked tired, though as immaculately turned out as usual. 'I thought I'd better wait until the students had gone to bed,' she said by way of explaining her tardiness but not quite meeting his eye.

'Please, have a seat,' said Dumbledore, indicating an armchair and seating himself in its twin before the fire. Minerva glanced at the chair, then Dumbledore, before sitting down as though expecting it to explode.

Or perhaps hoping.

She sat stiffly on the edge, hands clasped in her lap. 'Can I get you something to drink?' he asked. 'Tea? Something a little stronger?'

'No, nothing, thank you,' she declined with a small shake of her head, a hollow dread in her stomach. She licked her lips nervously. 'I'm so sorry about Silas. I don't know what got into him, he's not usually so…'

'Yes?' he prompted, when she only shrugged noncommittally.

'Hostile,' she finished quietly, shying away from saying 'violent'. 'He's had a tough couple of weeks. I know it's no excuse and if you choose to press charges-'

'I don't think that will be necessary,' he said, seeing how much this fear was weighing on her mind and alleviating it immediately. 'It's not my first broken nose.'

'Thank you. I can't apologise enough - the things he said,' she shook her head, looking imploringly at Dumbledore. 'He didn't mean it. Any of it.'

'He told you this?' asked Dumbledore, with a touch of scepticism.

'He didn't have to,' said Minerva, feeling, as she was wont to do, that Silas had been misjudged. 'You saved his life.'

'You give me too much credit-'

'No I don't,' she interrupted ardently, great warmth in her tone. 'I asked for your help and you gave it. I know you didn't do it for me or Silas but the truth is he wouldn't be here if it wasn't for you and I should have thanked you properly a long time ago.' She could not help a small blush of shame that she had not.

'You last correspondence was thanks enough,' he said, feeling an uneasiness that did not show.

She had no idea how her first letter had affected him. She had only been a few months out of Hogwarts and her husband had been lying in Nurmengard going through hell. He remembered the desperation of her address only too clearly: "I have nowhere left to turn. The Ministry doesn't want to get involved. You're the only one powerful enough to stop him - I'm begging you, _please, save my husband."_

Yes, he'd heard about the mysterious disappearances, and similar letters had arrived in the preceding year, but never had it hit so close to home as when he received Minerva's. She was a wonderful girl with lots of promise and she was suffering for a war that he could end, if he so chose to.

'However we are not here to talk about the past,' he said, sweeping away that ever-present guilt. 'I am more concerned with the present.'

Minerva nodded, shrinking a little. 'Of course,' she said. 'I just - I just wanted you to know that I'm - _we're_ - grateful, before I leave.'

'Leave?' he repeated, with a small frown. 'Surely you're not thinking of quitting over this?'

'I don't imagine the headmaster will want me around after today's performance.' Her cheeks flamed as she thought about it.

'You'll find Armando doesn't charge his staff with crimes they did not commit,' he assured her. 'I did not ask you here to dismiss you from the school.'

While relieved she wasn't getting the sack, Minerva's feeling of dread did not lessen by much. To talk about her personal life - with Dumbledore of all people - was almost worse.

'I do want to talk to you about what happened though,' he said seriously, confirming her fears. 'Silas's behaviour towards you disturbed me greatly.'

'I'm afraid you took the brunt of it,' she said, again looking apologetic.

'That's not entirely accurate,' he reminded her, recalling the moment of distraction that had cost him a broken nose. Her wound was gone now, along with how many others he shuddered to think.

'Silas would never hurt me - not intentionally,' she added at his dubious look. 'He'd had a skin-full, that's all.' She said this as if he had not contrived to steal her Gringotts' key, verbally abused her in front of a pub full of people and practically left her reputation in tatters.

'I wish I could believe that this was an isolated incident,' he said, 'however I have reason to believe that it is not. Mr Pringle came to see me this evening when he heard what happened.' He omitted the part about the caretaker's plan to march on down to the village to teach Silas a lesson, something it had taken Albus half an hour to talk him out of.

'Saying what?'

'This isn't the first time you've been hurt since you got here.'

'Polly likes to jump to conclusions, it was nothing.'

'He seemed certain of his facts and from what I've observed myself-'

'You can stop there,' she warned, looking far from receptive to his observations. 'I know how it looks and I'll admit that Silas has a drinking problem but he doesn't hit me.'

'The evidence speaks to the contrary,' Dumbledore argued.

'You saw with your own eyes, he just - he doesn't realise his own strength sometimes,' she tried to explain. 'He wasn't trying to hurt me intentionally.'

'Intentional or not, he _is_ hurting you.'

'It's nothing I can't live with.'

'That's what concerns me.'

She closed her eyes and sighed, trying to control the urge to shout. Volume wasn't going to help her get through to him. 'With all due respect, you don't know what it's been like since Nurmengard - _because_ of Nurmengard. Silas has problems, some of which have been exacerbated by the move from London. We just need time to adjust, that's _all_.'

Dumbledore was silent.

'He's not a bad person,' she said quietly, as much to herself as to Dumbledore. 'He's not.'

'I'm not suggesting that he is,' said Dumbledore gently, 'only that there are some issues that need to be addressed.'

'And what would you suggest?' she asked wearily, knowing that in all probability he could not put forward anything that she hadn't already tried.

Dumbledore sighed at the defeated slump of her shoulders. 'Are you sure about that drink?' he asked, getting to his feet to pour them both a generous measure of oak-matured mead without waiting for a response, handing her a glass as he sat back down.

'Cheers,' she said dryly, drinking. At this point she needed the Dutch courage.

After a minute's reflection he spoke again, 'You said Silas was having trouble adjusting - how so?'

Minerva hesitated. Her pride did not want him to know the extent of her financial difficulties and yet she knew that, whether she liked admitting it or not, she needed help. Silas had seen to that when he threw away all her hard-earned money.

'There's no money,' she said, very quietly, looking down into her glass and wishing she could drown herself in it. 'Silas's drinking … my parents left me some money but it's gone now. That's why we had to move here, why I took this job, but I just can't seem to keep up with his spending - and before you say it, I've tried cutting him off. Today was my comeuppance.'

Dumbledore got up again, remembering something. He took a pouch from the mantelpiece and gave it to Minerva. She looked up at him in horror as she felt the weight and heard the unmistakable clink of coins. 'I didn't mean-'

'That's yours,' he interrupted before she could finish protesting. 'Poppy was kind enough to collect it from the Three Broomsticks for you this afternoon.'

'Oh,' she let out a long breath of relief. She was a proud woman when it came to money matters and asking for help had made her insides shrivel with shame. She was very glad that something of her wages had survived the day's shenanigans. 'I'll thank her next time I see her,' she said, pocketing the money. 'Thank you.'

'You know, if you're looking for a secure place for your gold, apart from Gringotts, Hogwarts has several vaults,' he suggested. 'Goblin law can sometimes leave a lot to be desired.'

'You're telling me,' she muttered darkly, sipping her drink. Aloud, she said, 'That would be a weight off my mind, thank you.'

'No problem,' he said genially.

They lapsed into silence, drinking their mead until Minerva placed her empty glass on the table. 'I should get going,' she said, getting to her feet, money jingling in her pocket. 'Unless there was anything else?'

Dumbledore also got to his feet. 'No I think that will do for one night,' he said, eyes lacking their usual sparkle as he walked her to the door, obviously not reassured by their talk but powerless to do anything more.

She paused on the threshold. 'Thank you,' she said, 'truly.'

He held out his hand for hers, pressing it warmly between his own. 'My door is always open to you, Minerva. Anytime. Please use it,' he asked, not quite getting the affirmative he was hoping for in her embarrassed smile.

* * *

AN: Random update, I know. It's Potter fever with the last film coming out, reading all the books again for the first time in over a year, had to do something. Don't get your hopes up too far though, this is a very random update, lol.


	6. Chapter 6

AN: It's really hard to give warnings without spoiling it so I'm just gonna keep my fingers crossed that you're all over 16 and can take what's coming.

* * *

**Chapter 6 - Aftermath**

Clouds blew in overnight, cladding the sky in dirty grey from horizon to horizon, and Sunday morning was dark and grizzly as Minerva wrapped herself up in her warmest cloak and left Silas sleeping off his booze-up. The surrounding mountain peaks were obscured beyond vast sheets of drizzly rain and she kept her head down as she hurried down the cobbled street to the bakery. If she believed in such things she might think the weather was emulating her mood but, of course, her miserable mood was not causing the miserable weather, it was just one of those happy coincidences.

'Morning, Professor.'

She looked up from the rain-washed street to catch her elderly neighbour doffing his hat to her, a copy of the Sunday Prophet in his hand. 'Good morning, Mr Gevenny,' she called, raising a hand to shield her eyes. 'Lovely weather we're having.'

Mr Gevenny was the exact opposite of his wife in appearance; where she was short and plump, he was very tall and skinny as a beanpole. Both, however had the same kindly nature.

'Margery's making rock cakes, excellent time for a visit,' he said conspiratorially as they met in the middle of the street. 'She always makes too many and I'll end up a fat old man if you won't help me.'

Minerva smiled, though she was trying to think up a reasonable excuse to decline.

'Seriously though, you must pop round for a cuppa. It's been far too long since our daughters last visited and Marge does like having someone to fuss over.'

'I have some shopping to do,' she said, hoping to excuse herself still. She supposed there might be a chance that the Gevennys hadn't heard about what happened yesterday. Probably not though, if Mr Gevenny had been into the newsagents this morning; there wasn't a lot to talk about in a village as small as Hogsmeade.

'Perfect,' he said, clapping his hands together and cutting her off before she could start making up other things she simply must get done today. 'That'll give Marge time to get the good china out. Thanks for doing this, m'luv,' he added. 'I know she'll really appreciate it.'

'I…' she sighed at his expectant expression. 'It would be a pleasure,' she conceded finally, knowing full well that he'd steamrolled over her on purpose, crafty old coot.

He beamed at her, lifting his hat again. 'We'll see you in while then.'

She watched after him for a few moments, shaking her head, before tightening her cloak and hurrying on her own way.

She was enveloped in a warm gush of air a minute later as she entered the bakery, the smell of fresh bread making her mouth water. Several of Hogsmeade's oldest residents were inside, mostly fussy old ladies umming and aahing over which cream cakes to buy, Vesta Lawrence among them. Minerva kicked herself for forgetting that Sunday mornings in the bakery were pretty much unofficial gossip club meetings.

Sure enough a ripple seemed to go through the attending women at her entrance, nudged along on a wave of elbows in ribs. Minerva felt every eye glance towards her before heads turned away and the whispers started up. She ignored them - and the urge to just turn around and walk back out - joining the queue. She pretended to be studying the different loaves on display, oblivious to the dull his of wagging tongues.

'Yoo hoo! Professor McGonagall!'

Vesta Lawrence was bustling over, dressed in a pair of garish, flower-patterned robes that clashed horribly with her purple hair and looking eager to corner the young professor. Minerva suppressed the sigh pressing against her lips.

'How are you feeling today, you poor thing?' Vesta said in a carrying voice, patting Minerva's arm in apparent sympathy.

'I'm very well, thank you, Mrs Lawrence,' she answered shortly.

'How brave you are!' she exclaimed, waving a long-taloned hand through the air. 'I would have been simply _mortified _if my Baldric - rest his soul - had made such an exhibition of himself. I mean, accusing you of all those _things_,' she said delicately, beadily watching Minerva for a reaction, 'and in front of the children, too.'

When Minerva seemed disinclined to oblige her, she gave a short, shrill laugh. 'I simply wouldn't be able to show my face in public for a _decade_.'

Minerva resisted the urge to pull the stupid bunch of artificial flowers out of Vesta's hair and ram them down her throat. Instead she moved forward with the line.

Vesta followed, apparently unable to take a hint, her big red handbag swinging from her elbow. 'I told my Tallyn last night, I said, if he ever did such a thing… not that he would, mind you, he's such a darling angel…'

Minerva rolled her eyes. Vesta seemed not to notice, elbow deep as she was in rhapsodising about her precious son. Definitely a case of parental blindness if ever there was one for Tallyn Lawrence was far from angelic.

'…but he's not a great drinker anyway, thank the lord.'

_No, just a womaniser,_ Minerva thought, only stopped from voicing this aloud by the server calling, 'Next please!'

It was a disgruntled Minerva McGonagall who trudged up the hill to the Gevennys twenty minutes later, so when Trent Torpitt came marching up looking as though he had an axe to grind she was in no mood to deal with him.

'Oi, professor.'

She stopped, turning slowly to glare at him. 'I beg your pardon?'

He was a thickset man, with little neck and even less grey matter. He was several inches shorter than Minerva and was forced to look up at her, blinking rapidly in the drizzle. 'Where the hell's that husband of yours?' he demanded.

Minerva was silent, arching one imperious eyebrow. Who the hell did he think he was speaking to?

'He was supposed to be helping me out yesterday an' the SOB never turned up! If I'd known he was going to bugger off down the pub for the day I'd have found someone else instead of nearly breaking me back doing the work of two - oi! Where d'you think you're going? I'm talking to you!'

Minerva had turned to leave but now turned back again. 'No, you're shouting at me. If you have a problem with Silas, I suggest you take it up with him.'

'You could at least tell me where he is,' he demanded.

'And you could adopt a more civilised tone. I guess it's a disappointing day for both of us.'

By the time she reached Mr and Mrs Gevenny's cottage the last thing she wanted was to make polite chit-chat. She wanted to go home and bury her head in the sand, at least until Monday morning, but she rarely got what she wanted.

'You look madder than a wet hen,' was Mr Gevenny's remark upon opening the door.

'Well you've got the wet part right,' she said, stepping over the threshold and sniffing the air appreciatively. 'Those rock cakes smell good.'

'Wait till you taste 'em. Here, let me take your cloak,' he said, helping her off with it. He took her shopping bag too, placing it under the cloak rail. 'Go on in, through there. Marge's just made a pot of tea.'

She made her way up the narrow but well-lit hallway, pushing damp tendrils of hair off her face. She dreaded to think what she must look like, soggy and bedraggled as she was.

'Ah, there you are, lass, come in, come in! Sit yourself down in front of the fire before you catch your death of cold,' Mrs Gevenny flapped, beaming as she shoved Minerva onto one of two plump sofas. 'Can I pour you a cuppa?'

Minerva smiled and nodded, holding her hands up to the fire, 'That would be lovely, thank you, Mrs Gevenny.'

'Oh, call me Marge, everyone does,' she said, waving a hand as she bustled over to the tea trolley. 'Don't they, dear?' she said, appealing to Mr Gevenny, who had just entered the room.

'Don't who what?' he asked.

'I was just telling Professor McGonagall here that she should call me Marge,' said Marge, pouring milk into three cups.

'Oh yes, everyone does,' said Mr Gevenny, sitting down on the sofa opposite Minerva. 'And I'm Will,' he added, perching his reading spectacles on the edge of his nose before producing the Sunday Prophet, folding it in half and propping it on his knee. 'Perhaps with a bona fide professor here I might stand a chance of finishing the crossword this week,' he said hopefully.

'You're probably giving me more credit than I'm due there,' she said modestly. 'And, please, call me Minerva.'

'Do you take sugar, lass?'

'No thank you, Mrs - Marge,' she corrected herself.

'Well you're halfway there,' the old woman chuckled, passing Minerva a cup rattling on its saucer. 'There you are, my dear. Biscuit? I'm still waiting for the cakes to cool a little.'

'I'm fine, thanks,' she declined, looking at the pictures along the mantelpiece. 'Are those your daughters?' she asked.

'Oh yes, back when they were still at Hogwarts. That's Penny on the right, my youngest,' she said, handing Will his cup of tea before seating herself. 'She's a subeditor at the Daily Prophet. And the one with the curly hair is Jeannie; she works at the Ministry, Improper Use of Magic. Those are our grandchildren, in the next photo. I forget when we took that one.'

'Summer before last,' Will supplied helpfully, scratching his nose and frowning at the crossword. 'Ten letter word: Smallest known dragon, native to Peru. Second letter 'I'.'

'Vipertooth,' Minerva answered, as Marge stood and took the picture of her grandchildren from the mantelpiece.

Will gave a little start of excitement, seizing his quill from the small round table beside the sofa and dipping it into the ink bottle. 'I knew you were a smart one.' Minerva smiled.

Marge took the seat next to Minerva on the sofa, showing her the photo. It showed three children; a girl and boy in their teens standing behind a small girl with dark curly hair. 'That was the last time we were all together, at Jeannie's house in Devon. Those two are hers,' she said, indicating the older kids, 'Amelia and Nemo.'

'I think I've had the pleasure,' she said, pointing to the boy. 'He doesn't take my class but I met him while I was helping out Professor Dumbledore. He plays Beater for Hufflepuff, doesn't he?'

'Not polite enough to come visit his grandma yesterday though,' muttered Will.

'Oh be quiet, William. Young boys have more exciting things to do than visit their grans.'

Will shrugged. 'Ten letter word: Tall ornamental plant with blue or white flowers in long spikes. Beginning with 'D'.'

'Delphinium,' said Marge after pausing to count silently on her fingers.

'Of course it is,' he nodded, scratching it in.

Margery turned back to her guest. 'Amelia's the eldest, she finished school year before last. She's off sight-seeing at the moment, sends us a postcard every month, always from somewhere new and exotic. She was in Japan last postcard.'

'She must be having the time of her life,' smiled Minerva, sipping her tea.

'Yes well, life's for the living, as they say,' said Marge, smiling proudly. 'And this here is my youngest granddaughter, Penny's little girl, Easter.'

'Now there's a face I know well, she'd one of my second year students.'

'Looks just like her mum that one, and she's a clever little thing too; the only Ravenclaw in four generations of Hufflepuffs.'

'She's one of the best in the year, as far as Defence Against the Dark Arts is concerned,' agreed Minerva.

Across the room, William's stomach gave a loud rumble.

Marge jumped up. 'I think that's a sign to serve up those rock cakes, don't you?'

* * *

Silas was still in bed when Minerva arrived home after lunch, which suited her fine. She changed into a pair of old slacks and a faded blue work-shirt and wrapped her hair up in a blue scarf, in preparation for the spring-clean she had planned for the afternoon.

She'd just finished stacking her books up in tottering piles in the living room, the radio playing loudly, when she was scared half to death to find herself being watched. She stumbled backwards, bumping into one of the towers and sending it crashing into another and another, like dominoes, until her once alphabetically ordered collection was reduced to a pile of rubble.

'Sorry!' Poppy mouthed through the window, looking abashed, as Minerva dug her feet out of the mess and went to answer the door.

'I _did _knock!' said Poppy immediately, 'But there was no answer and I heard the music so I thought…'

'You frightened the life out of me!' Minerva admonished.

'I didn't mean to!'

Minerva laughed. 'No, I don't suppose you did. What are you doing here, anyway?' she asked.

'Charming,' said Poppy, raising her eyebrows.

'Oh you know I didn't mean it like that.'

'I thought I'd pop in for a cup of tea. I realised this morning, you've been here three months and I've never visited till now.' Minerva found her timing highly coincidental. 'So?' she said. 'It's raining out here you know.'

Minerva started, 'Oh of course - sorry, Poppy - come in,' she said, stepping back. 'You'll have to excuse the mess.'

Poppy laughed sheepishly, shrugging off her cloak as Minerva closed the front door behind her. 'I'm so sorry.'

'Don't worry about it,' said Minerva, gesturing for her to proceed into the living room and following, turning down the radio as she passed. She led her guest, her first guest if you didn't count Dumbledore's disastrous visit, into the kitchen since she had practically turned the living room upside down cleaning. 'You can hang your cloak by the door,' she indicated, moving to fill the kettle at the sink.

'Silas out?' asked Poppy, settling herself at the kitchen table and watching as Minerva placed the kettle on the stove and lit it with a flick of her wand.

Minerva glanced at the ceiling, her lips pursed, 'He's still sleeping off yesterday.' She sat down opposite Poppy, 'I spoke to Professor Dumbledore last night; thanks, for what you did.'

Poppy shook her head, 'It was nothing, just doing what Dumbledore told me.'

Minerva nodded her head in understanding. 'Thanks anyway,' she said with half a smile. 'So, how bad is it?' she asked.

'How bad's what?'

'Is everyone talking about it?'

Poppy grimaced, 'It's kind of a good news, bad news situation.'

'So they are,' said Minerva, heart sinking. Well, it had been a bit much to ask for, she supposed.

'Yes - but the Slytherins are losing bucketfuls of points for it,' said Poppy brightly.

'That's the good news? That Slytherins are making comments worthy of point deductions?' said Minerva, in a slightly squeaky voice.

Poppy leaned across the table to squeeze her hand. 'Don't worry about it, they'll have found something else to gossip about in no time at all,' she said comfortingly. 'Though while we're on the subject, you could tell me what the hell happened yesterday. The way you went tearing off - and your shoulder -'

Minerva put up a hand to stop her, 'Shhh,' she said warningly, glancing up at the ceiling again. 'Silas doesn't know about my shoulder,' she said in a half whisper.

'How can he not know?' asked Poppy sceptically.

'I never told him. He has night terrors,' said Minerva in explanation, keeping her voice low. 'It was an accident.'

Poppy looked at her for a moment before rolling her eyes and shaking her head. 'Why didn't you come to me before? Those bruises must be a couple of weeks old now, I could've healed them ages ago,' she remonstrated getting to her feet.

'What are you doing?'

'What do you think I'm doing? Unbutton your shirt,' said Poppy, standing behind her.

'Like you said, they're almost healed,' said Minerva, tightening the shirt around her neck.

'Still, why suffer when you don't have to? It's nothing I haven't seen before.'

'What if Silas comes down?'

'He'll think his birthday's come early,' she laughed. 'Come on, the sooner you do as you're told, the sooner it'll be over with.'

Minerva sighed and undid enough buttons to allow her to push the shirt off her shoulders. The bruises on the back of her arm had disappeared, but the lines across her back were still a sickly yellow-green and Poppy grimaced inwardly as she gently probed the discoloured skin. 'You're lucky you didn't break anything,' she said, noticing as she did so more recent contusions on her arm that she didn't remember seeing there yesterday. 'What's this?'

'What?'

'These bruises on your arm. Looks like a hand print.'

Minerva hadn't even noticed them. 'It's nothing. Doesn't hurt,' she said. 'Now can you please hurry up before Silas wakes up.'

'But-'

'Look I don't want to talk about it,' she said, a little sharply. 'I went through all this with Dumbledore last night, I'm tired of explaining myself. I wish everyone would just stop interfering.'

'Believe it or not,' said Poppy, pulling out her wand and slowly running it the length of Minerva's bruises, 'we stick our noses in because we care. You're so secretive about everything, you can't blame us if we wonder what you're trying to hide. I couldn't live with myself if I suspected something and never did anything about it and something happened.'

Minerva could see where she was coming from but everyone seemed to forget that she had taken care of herself, and Silas, for twelve years before she came to Hogwarts. She had survived this long without the intervention of others, she wasn't about to crumble now because they wanted to play Good Samaritan.

'I understand that, I do, but I am telling you I am fine,' she said slowly, trying to find a way to say what she wanted to say without causing offence. 'I'm a big girl now and, to be perfectly frank, I feel as if I'm being mollycoddled. I know you're only doing what you think's best and I'm touched to know that you're there if I need you. But I don't need you and the continual insinuations are starting to wear my patience thin.' She paused, afraid she had come off too accusatory. 'Maybe I'm proud. I'm definitely independent; I'm not used to this kind of interest in my life. You can understand how I might feel a little crowded, can't you?'

Poppy had finished mending the bruises on Minerva's back and pulled her shirt back onto her shoulders. 'All done,' she said in a slightly subdued tone of voice.

'I'm sorry, Poppy, I'm not having a go at you,' she sighed, buttoning her shirt up. 'I know you only want to help but I am more than capable of managing my own life. Put yourself in my shoes.'

Poppy sat back down, still looking unsure. 'Swear to me,' she said earnestly, 'swear to me that he's never hit you.'

Minerva gazed steadily into her friend's eyes as she said, 'I promise you, on my honour, he has never deliberately hit me.'

Poppy spread her hands. 'Okay,' she said. 'I guess I'll have to take your word for it,' she conceded.

'Thank you,' she said with a grateful and relieved half smile. The kettle started to whistle. 'Tea?' she asked, getting to her feet.

Ten minutes they were tucking into the rock cakes Marge had pressed on Minerva earlier.

'Do you think women have a baking gene that kicks in when you hit seventy or something?' pondered Poppy, helping herself to another one.

'Ah yes, the granny gene,' said Minerva knowledgeably, 'giving every grandmother the ability to knit, bake and wear leopard-print slippers. Downsides include shrinking, starting every other sentence with 'In my day…' and an inability to call anyone by the right name on the first attempt.'

Poppy laughed, 'My nan used to do that! Penny, Polly, Paula - everything _but_ Poppy.'

'It's the price we must pay for excellent rock cakes,' said Minerva in a resigned voice.

Overhead, the floorboards creaked; Sleeping Beauty had awoken at last. They heard heavy footsteps cross the floor and, a minute later, the shower running.

'The elusive Mr McGonagall,' said Poppy, as she raised her cup to her lips.

'It's about time,' said Minerva, 'It's after two.'

'Maybe he's afraid to face you after yesterday…' theorised Poppy, not looking at Minerva as she said it.

'Or maybe his head's banging good and hard,' said Minerva. 'Hate to break it to you but I don't really beat him.'

'He _really_ said that?' gasped Poppy. 'I thought they made that bit up.'

Minerva shook her head.

'And what did he have to say for himself when you got him home?' she asked, keeping her voice low despite the fact that they could still here the shower going.

'There was no point trying to talk to him yesterday with the state he was in,' said Minerva.

'Well, be sure to tell me when to duck, won't you?'

Minerva rolled her eyes and changed the subject. 'So, did you buy those robes in the end?' she asked.

Poppy sipped her tea. 'Which ones?'

'The hideous pink ones,' said Minerva, pulling a face.

'They weren't hideous!' objected Poppy indignantly.

Minerva covered her face, smothering a grin. 'You bought them, didn't you?' she said, peeking through her fingers at the healer.

'You said you liked them yesterday!' protested Poppy, putting her cup down.

Minerva dropped her hands. 'I said they were bright, not nice,' she argued, knowing that at no point could she possibly have professed to like anything so eye-wateringly _pink_.

Poppy slumped back in her chair, moodily picking up her cup again. 'Well, for your information, I _didn't_ buy them so ner,' she said, sticking her tongue out.

'Then why do you care if I think they're awful?' she laughed.

'Because I was _going_ to buy them,' she said, as if this explained everything.

'You still can,' said Minerva. 'It doesn't matter if I like them, so long as you do. You're the one wearing them.'

'Yes, but now every time I wear them I'll be walking around thinking I look 'hideous'.'

'My apologies,' said Minerva. 'In future I will keep my terrible fashion sense to myself,' she promised, getting up and pottering around the kitchen, putting the things together for Silas's coffee; old habits. 'Hey, does that mean-'

Loud knocking at the front door cut her short and she frowned as she put down the milk and went to investigate. 'Excuse me.'

She wasn't happy to find Trent on her doorstep.

'Is he there?' he demanded, having failed to adjust his attitude.

'He's otherwise occupied at the moment,' she said. 'I'll let him know you stopped by.'

He put his foot out to stop her closing the door. 'I ain't moving till I see him.' There was a whiff of alcohol about him.

'I think a better use of your time would be to come back later,' she said calmly.

'Oi! Silas! Get out here!' he bellowed. 'Stop hiding behind your wife's skirts and face me like a man!'

'Oh for goodness sake,' she tutted, rolling her eyes. One drunk in her life quite was enough. 'What exactly is it that you hope to accomplish here?' she queried irritably.

'Silas! I know you're in there!' he bellowed again, ignoring her.

'Minerva?' Poppy stuck her head around the living room door. 'Is everything alright?' she asked.

'Fine,' she answered, folding her arms as she looked at Trent and, remarkably for such a small-framed woman, did a very good impression of a brick wall. 'Look, I'm not trying to stop you from talking to Silas but he really is indisposed so unless you'd like to climb in the shower with him you should save yourself the trouble and come back in an hour.'

She didn't think she was being unreasonable, and she could use the time to convince Silas to apologise, but Trent was having none of it. Apparently his skull was so thick, logic couldn't penetrate it.

'I already told you, I ain't moving,' he swore stubbornly, mirroring her posture.

Minerva closed her eyes and sighed.

'What the hell's going on here?'

'Silas!' barked Trent, starting forwards.

'Whoa,' said Minerva, putting an arm out to stop him as he tried to shove past her. 'Oh no you don't.'

'You!' he shouted over her shoulder, spittle flying from his mouth. Minerva could smell the whiskey on his breath.

Silas was standing on the stairs, dripping wet from the shower and looking thunderous. Poppy's gaze flickered between Silas and Trent, with Minerva playing piggy in the middle.

'Where the hell were you yesterday, eh?' demanded Trent, forcing Minerva back a step.

'Let's calm down, shall we?' said Minerva, reaching for her wand, well aware of her hazardous position. She couldn't see Silas behind her but she heard him descend the rest of the way down the stairs. She couldn't believe she was breaking up a second fight in as many days.

'You cost me good business! You owe me!' Trent continued to rail, shunting Minerva back two more paces. She felt a heavy hand on her shoulder, pulling her backwards.

Poppy took a few tentative steps closer, her wand in her hand.

'Silas, don't-' began Minerva, raising her wand to cast a shield charm between them, but before she could do anything Silas had grabbed a fistful of Trent's robes and was forcing him back out the door. Minerva cursed under her breath.

Trent, bereft of any clothing on Silas to grab save his towel, was tearing at his hands instead, trying to pry his fingers apart so he could get loose. Halfway down the path, Silas threw Trent away from him, propelling him into the gate. Whether he was drunk or simply foolhardy, Minerva didn't know, but instead of leaving Trent stood up, straightened his robes and decided to come back for more.

Minerva gasped and flinched, her hand flying to her mouth as Silas pulled back one fist and brought it crashing down on Trent's jaw. He went down like a ton of bricks, landing with a crunch on a pile of dead brambles.

Silas was breathing heavily, the triumphant Goliath, glaring down at Trent, who was out cold.

Poppy rushed over, wand in hand. A trickle of blood ran from Trent's mouth, the rain running off his face making it look even worse. Minerva turned Silas around. His shoulders were still heaving with anger. The livid scars, like forked lightning branded on his skin, were turning purple in the cold.

'Why don't you go put some clothes on,' she suggested, stepping aside to let him pass. Giving him a piece of her mind could wait.

'He'll be alright,' Poppy pronounced after Silas had gone, kneeling in the mud beside Trent, who was starting to come round.

Minerva looked at Poppy helplessly. 'Well, I suppose we'd better get him inside. Can't leave him out here…'

* * *

'What the hell were you thinking!' Minerva raged an hour later, after Trent and Poppy were gone. 'Are you _trying_ to get locked up in Azkaban? You were lucky Professor Dumbledore didn't press charges yesterday, and then you go and do it again!'

'_He_ came at _me!'_ Silas yelled back, jabbing himself in the chest. 'What was I supposed to do, let him hit me?'

'You should have let me handle it!' she snapped, gathering up an armful of books and carrying them over to the freshly polished bookshelves. 'He was half your size, you didn't need to hit him. I'm only glad Poppy was here to check him over, though god knows what she thinks of us now.'

'And that's all you care about, isn't it? What your precious 'colleagues' think of you.'

'What's that supposed to mean?'

'I'm your husband!'

'You're an idiot!' she shot back, slamming the books onto a shelf.

'And you've become Miss High-And-Mighty since you've been working up at that school,' he spat, 'looking down your nose at me.'

'At least I get a little respect there,' she said, picking up another stack of books. 'And, yes, I care what they think. I'm trying to build a reputation here; that's not being high and mighty, Silas, that's having some self-respect. Not something you'd know a lot about if yesterday was anything to go by,' she said acidly, thumping the books down next to the others.

Silas reddened, blood thundering in his ears. 'Well what's to respect about a waste of space like me, eh? Good for nothing, useful to no one-'

'Oh no, you tried that one on me yesterday, right before you accused me of battering you, remember?' she fumed. 'Half the bloody village's talking about it, so you can save the 'Poor Silas' speech.'

'You could do with bringing down a peg or two,' he muttered.

'Is that what that was?' she asked incredulously, her eyebrows raised. 'Because I thought it was you throwing a paddy because I wouldn't give you any more money. How silly of me. You were teaching me a lesson - I should be grateful, I suppose?'

'You like watching me suffer.'

'Oh yeh,' she nodded sarcastically, 'it's the highlight of my day coming home to your foul mood and being woken five times a night. I just don't know how I'd get by without it.'

'You think it's easy being reliant on your wife for everything?'

'By choice!'

'You have no idea what it's like -'

'I've been here, too, Silas. I think I have a pretty good idea,' she countered. 'You're not the only one who lost the last twelve years.'

She shook her head, huffing as she picked up more books.

'I'm finally doing something with my life, something that I love, and you seem bent on destroying it. I've got to walk into _that_ school tomorrow morning and face six hundred students who've probably spent the entire weekend speculating on how I beat you this time. What on earth possessed you to say it…' she said to herself, shaking her head in disbelief as she finished filling the top shelf. She'd half expected to wake up this morning and find it was all some terrible dream.

Silas gave an angry grunt, kicking the nearest book so that it hit the mantelpiece, smashing an ebony figurine.

Minerva looked from him to the shattered pieces and back again, not amused, to put it lightly. After several tense moments, she snapped. 'Oh no, don't you move a muscle, pet. I'll just clean up your mess - as usual,' she said, pulling out her wand. 'You just stand there, that's righ-'

'SHUT UP! Just _shut up!_' Silas roared suddenly, grabbing Minerva's wand arm as his hand closed on her throat. Momentum carried them into the wall; Minerva's hand struck the corner of the mantelpiece and she dropped her wand.

'Silas!' she gasped, free hand scrabbling at the fingers at her throat, feet barely touching the ground.

'Always making out like you're some kind of martyr!' he raged, his face up close to hers, flecks of spit hitting her face as she struggled to catch a breath. She was choking.

'Silas - please -'

'You don't know what it's like! Stuck here day after day, alone in this house with nothing but my own thoughts for company,' he snarled. 'Left here to _rot_ while you live it up with your new friends, and your new job, and your new fucking _life,'_ he fumed, shaking her by the neck until she had no air left to beg with, the back of his hand bleeding from her desperate attempts to get free. 'You, with your clean head and your clean hands, you don't know what it's like, so don't tell me you know what it's like, because you don't!'

Minerva was about to pass out, her lungs about to burst, along with what felt like every blood-vessel in her head, lights popping in front of her eyes -

And then, with a snort like a charging bull, he released her.

She doubled over immediately and fell to her knees, coughing and spluttering, greedy lungs trying to suck in great gasps of air. She was trembling all over.

When she looked up again, Silas was gone.

* * *

AN: I can't tell you how much I hated writing that last scene. I feel so mean! Poor Minerva. I'm so sorry. Maybe I should just stop now, yes?


End file.
